


Dragons and Daffodils

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Series: Magic and Magnolias Verse [4]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, BAMF Wade Wilson, Dragon Wade Wilson, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, Fire Magic, Happily Ever After, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Bond, Magical Tattoos, Precious Peter Parker, Revenge, Sort Of, Soulmates, Spideypool - Freeform, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wings, Witch Peter Parker, Witches and Familiars, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-19 02:28:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: The Madame Witches at Magic and Magnolias are back with their most challenging match yet-- a young witch named Peter and an ancient dragon named Wade.---“If you want to help me, kill me.” the familiar clenched massive hands into a fist, cut claws into his palms til blood dripped down and stained the daffodils dark. “With this collar dampening my magic you might stand a chance. Kill me."And then broken, “Please. Madame, I’m so tired. Release me from this life."“I know you’re tired.” Natasha whispered. “And I’ve come to offer you redemption.”“No!.” he hissed. “I’m not sorry for the blood I spilled, I do not need redemption!"“Not redemption for your actions.” she shook her head. “Redemption for your heart. For your soul. Balance.”“Balance.” the dragon’s eyes flared yellow then bright white as his powers surged. “No. Don’t you dare. Don't offer me a witch.”“A healer, like myself. Young, innocent, fearless. He is the perfect balance to your dragon.”“No.”"Wade." Natasha held up the heavy key that would free the dragon from his collar. “I’m not giving you a choice in the matter.”
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: Magic and Magnolias Verse [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2052432
Comments: 59
Kudos: 256





	1. Chapter 1

_*TW for quick mentions of suicide, fairly standard for Wade/DP type things*_

**********

In the old days the witches were thought to be gods and goddesses, ancient beings with timeless magic crackling through their veins, the power of the elements brought under their control, familiars that were mythical monsters at their side. 

In the old days, water witches leashed the leviathan where it rolled beneath the waves. Air witches raced wind currents with griffins, the Earth witches traversed mountains with the ancestors of Fenrir and the healer witches--- the healer witches walked alongside _dragons_. 

Natasha was a healer witch, and like all the witches in her coven she was drawn to fire, to the inherent destruction of the flame and purge of heat, to the regrowth and healing that only happened after everything _ugly_ had been burned to the ground and nature’s beauty found a way through the ashes. 

Over the course of a millennia Natasha had mastered all the elements right alongside her wife and lover, she and Pepper could twist the earth and ride the wind and make the ocean _rage_ but as a healer witch Natasha had always kept one power tucked tight to her heart, one piece of knowledge close to her chest and sheltered from prying eyes or curious magic. 

“Are you leaving so soon?” Pepper asked that morning as Natasha buttoned into her long jacket, and Natasha nodded, “I’m off to the mountains. Will you send for the Parker witch?” 

“Of course darling.” Pepper’s green eyes flickered with concern. “Are you sure you have to go today, though? Surely this can wait a little bit?”

“The wild daffodils are in bloom for the first time in decades, Pep.” Natasha looked out to the mountains that surrounded their little village, up to the hidden caves and jagged peaks where the clouds drifted low and cast shadows over sleeping beasts. “I’m the only one who knows what that means anymore, and I can’t wait any longer. A _life_ depends on my haste and I won’t have his blood on my hands.”

“Be careful into the hills, my love.” the other witch said softly, uncertainly. “And hurry home.” 

“I will.” 

It was easy for most people to forget the Madame Witches of _Magic and Magnolias_ were in fact, two of the most powerful witches still walking the Earth. The women spent their days selling knick knacks and sipping tea, weaving dream catchers and crafting wind chimes, flirting with each other and generally being as nosy and affectionately meddlesome as two ancient witches could be. They seemed entirely _neutral_ , just quirky wives with their quirky shop and quirky fashion choices, youthful appearances and unflappable demeanor and honestly, who could be blamed for thinking they were harmless?

The Madame Witches were far from harmless, however. There were very good reasons every witch, familiar or slightly magically tuned individual jumped to do their bidding when the women so much as _sniffed_. 

Reasons like _this_.

The air in the clearing at the base of the mountains shuddered, vibrated, _pulsed_ with the force of the witch’s power. Natasha was hovering nearly six feet off the ground, red hair snapping wildly in a wind she’d created with nothing more than a quick word, eyes glowing jade green behind the filter of clouds she stirred with a quiet chant. For this level of magic Natasha had forgone the usual corsets and fancy gown, shed her button hook boots and intricate hair style and wore only in only a thin slip and a piece of jewelry created from the very _heart_ of the Earth Mother. The healer witch flattened one palm towards the Earth to keep her steady, bared her throat to the morning sun to absorb its strength and reached with stretched fingers towards the familiar that knelt panting and _swearing_ in front of her, his broad shoulders bowed and neck bent beneath the weight of a heavy, shackled collar.

The familiar was a man but he was little more than _beast_ these days, fingers that were almost claws dug into the earth, skin marred with the ravages of a millennium, fangs that could never quite recede poking out from beneath his lip. And there on his back, scales glittered like armor along his shoulder blades, crawling up his neck and over his bare scalp to touch nearly blank eyes that flickered yellow with every breath. 

“Waidson.” The witch’s voice faltered only a hitch, only a breath when she saw the damage and devastation on the once magnificent familiar. “The centuries have not been kind to you.” 

“No.” the answer low pitched and vibrating through the ground, rolling with a growl that would have sent a lesser witch running in terror. “No, they have not. _Kind_ would have been letting me sleep, _kinder_ have been letting me die.” 

“Only matched magic could end one like you.” Natasha countered and the beast seemed to falter, to shrink beneath the weight of truth. “And yet it seems the end is near all the same. You’re weak, Waidson. Slipping. I can feel it.” 

“Did you call me down from my mountain to remind me of what I already know?” thick fingers closed around the heavy collar at his neck, tugged at it meaningfully. “I am _slipping_ but you said yourself only matched magic can kill me, and your magic does not match mine, witch. You pull the power of the sun, the earth and wind, but none of that is a match for my fire. I am the last one, the last dragon, there’s no one left to best me.”

“My particular magic doesn’t exactly match yours.” She acknowledged coolly. “But with your collar on, myself and my wife could tear you in half while you kneel before me, rip you apart before you so much as puffed smoke. It wouldn't be a quick or painless death and I couldn’t do it alone but with you this weak, we could do it together.”

“Then try.” The familiar wasn't fazed by her words, by the promise of a painful death. “ _Try_ , witch. See if this collar dampens my magic enough for you to kill me. _Try_ and then pretend to be shocked when I tear your throat out with my teeth.” 

The dragon growled, scales clicking and back muscles bulging as long hidden wings threatened to burst free, the collar at his neck glowing molten red as the inlaid curse strained to hold the shift back. “ _Try_ , damn you.”

“Make no mistake of my intentions.” The ground shook beneath the force of Natasha’s magic and the dragon rumbled, dug his claws into the dirt and bared his fangs in a challenge, in a _dare_. “The daffodils are blooming so I am here to offer you help, but threaten myself or my love again and I’ll scatter the blooms on your grave instead of blessing them on your brow.” 

“Daffodils.” the familiar tipped his head towards the patches of bright blooms, lip curling in disdain. “You’ve brought me from the mountain for _daffodils_. Madame, I do not want your flowers.” 

“It is time you settled before you are lost. You’ve been alone too long and you are too close to falling apart.” The wind surged, wrapped around the witch protectively as the familiar stood to his feet, looming huge even at some distance. “I was there when they bound you, Waidson. I was tasked with keeping the world safe from your rage, a job I do not take lightly.” 

And softer, because beneath the pulse of her magic Natasha’s heart was _shattering_ for the creature, “I was tasked with keeping _you_ safe and I don’t take that job lightly either. Every time the daffodils have bloomed I’ve called for you, the fact that you’ve come _now_ means you know you’re close to breaking. Let me help you.” 

“If you want to help me, kill me.” the familiar clenched massive hands into a fist, cut into his palms with his claws until blood dripped down and stained the daffodils dark. “I take back what I said before, I won’t fight you for it. With this collar on, your magic stands a chance against mine. Call your mate to your side and do it. _Try_.” 

And then broken, “... _please_. Madame, I’m so tired.” 

“Oh my love, I know you’re tired.” she whispered. “And I’ve called you to offer rest, to offer redemption.”

“I don’t need redemption.” he hissed. “I’m not sorry for the blood I spilled or the souls shredded. I don’t need _redemption_ , I need to be finished with this!” 

“Not redemption for your actions.” Natasha shook her head. “Redemption for your heart. For your soul. Balance.” 

“Balance.” the dragon’s eyes flared yellow and then bright white as his powers surged. “No. Don’t you dare. Do _not_ offer me a witch.” 

“A healer, like myself. Young, innocent, fearless. He is the perfect balance to your dragon.”

“ _No_.” 

“I’m not giving you a choice in the matter.” Natasha held up a key, intricate and ancient, stained red with the blood of all the familiar had killed, gleaming letters written in charmed gold spelling out a curse of binding. The key had been forged from the same metal as the collar round the dragon’s neck, made to fit the lock that hung heavy at his pulse, given to the Madame Witch the day Waidson had been bound and hidden away in the mountains for all these centuries. 

“I’m not giving you a choice.” she said again, staring deep into the white eyes and refusing to flinch away. “I cannot stand idly by when every day brings you closer to breaking. Too long I let you grieve and now you are a danger to yourself and to our world. You know as well as I that the collar’s power will dwindle soon, and then you won’t be able to control your shift. You’ll be lost to the beast and with a millennia’s worth of pain and heartbreak making you wild, thousands will die. _Tens_ of thousands. I can’t take that chance.” 

The white eyes flickered, shifted yellow and then finally back to hazel, the familiar’s frame slumping beneath the truth of her statement. 

“You will match with the healer witch by summer solstice.” Magic warped the air heavy, a silver bound scroll unfurled between them so the familiar could see the contract for himself. “Or be forced to your shift and killed by our hand before you are allowed to hurt anyone. Sign it.” 

Waidson hesitated, hunched his shoulders and turned away and Natasha wrenched _lightning_ from the air, seared the ground at the dragon’s feet and raised her voice, “Sign it, dragon! Enough is enough! I am the Madame Witch and you _will_ do as I say!” 

….There was a puff of smoke and a flash of fire, blinding bright and searing hot for several seconds as the familiar finally lay his mark on the contract and Natasha didn't dare _breathe_ until the seal blackened into permanent. 

The creature was too ancient to have ever learned how to write and in too much pain to bother tempering the flame as it burned into and through the charmed papers. Too certain this last ditch effort to save him would fail, too sure the unfortunate witch they paired to him would run screaming from his horror, too afraid…

_...he was too afraid._

“Let me be very clear about something.” Natasha snapped her fingers and both contract and key disappeared in a flash of light. “I want to help you, Waidson, I do. There are far too few of us ancient ones left, you are truthfully the last of your kind and I would grieve for the rest of my life if I failed to save you.” 

“But?” 

“ _But_.” Now the witch smiled but it was a terrible thing, the wind picked back up and the ground rolled beneath her feet as she spoke, “Do not let my habits of selling candles and reading poetry fool you. If you hurt this witch, if you take your grief and anger out on his innocent soul, I will force you to the shift myself and slaughter you where you stand.” 

Natasha’s eyes sparked jade and dangerous. 

“Do not test me, Dragon.” 

_Dragon_.

********

“What do you know about dragons, Peter?” Pepper asked as she wove bright yellow and white daffodils into the young witch’s hair. “Anything at all?” 

“I only know what I’ve read in the stories.” Peter reached to touch one of the delicate petals curiously, fascinated by the intricate crown the wind witch was creating. “They used to carve caves in the mountain sides and only came down when the ancient witches called. They hoarded gold, demanded virgin sacrifices from nearby villages, all that sort of thing. I’m sure most of it’s false but it’s been so long since a dragon familiar was even sighted that all we have to go on is the old stories and the human fairy tales.” 

His pert nose scrunched a little. “Humans tell the worst stories. They think all witches are wrinkled crones cackling over bubbling cauldrons. They know _nothing_.” 

“Humans know plenty of things, just not as many things as we do.” Pepper corrected with a small smile. “It’s not their fault they have such a limited view of the world. The magic community gives the humans only small tastes of truth and the people can’t be blamed for the stories they spin.” 

“I’m pretty sure they can.” Peter’s laugh made the daffodils blur brighter yellow and the Madame Witch’s fingertips tingled from the buzz of magic as she picked another bloom. “Have you seen the costumes they wear near Samhain? Witches and warlocks and fae. If only they knew.” 

“Don’t begrudge humans their celebrations.” Pepper chastised gently. “And their estimations of our world aren’t always that far off, I’ve been known to cackle wildly over a cauldron or two.” 

“But a dragon demanding virgin sacrifices?” Peter’s finally arched eyebrows lifted towards his hairline. “What about that?” 

“Alright, that particular fairy tale is honestly atrocious.” she agreed. “But all the same, it’s a good thing you _aren’t_ a virgin isn’t it? 

“I—“ the little witch blushed first light pink, then damn near scarlet as he realized what the redhead was saying. “How— how would you know that?” 

“There’s some most likely mystical reason why all souls are drawn to healers for amorous purposes.” Pepper mused faux thoughtfully, fighting a smile as Peter's blush darkened. “Most likely it's science, perhaps biology, we are naturally drawn to those that make us feel good and since healer witches tend to be beautiful, feeling good with someone so lovely can easily twists toward lust, wouldn't you agree?”

“I—“ Peter pleated the hem of his tunic nervously. “So it’s science that always finds me a willing bed partner?”

“No, it’s because you healer witches are endlessly horny!” Pepper cried in exasperation, and Peter squawked in horror at being so thoroughly called out by the Madame Witch. “Don’t look so surprised, child. My wife is a healer witch and though my libido has finally grown to match hers, those first several centuries together I thought I’d suffocate between her thighs every time we—“

“Madame Witch!” Peter's blush was nearing unhealthy shades. “I am _begging_ you not to finish that sentence!” 

“Hm.” Pepper clicked her tongue teasingly. “So for someone who is clearly thoroughly _aware_ of a healers effect on others desire, you’re still innocent enough to blush? My oh my.”

Peter didn’t reply, just tried to disappear behind his hands and she laughed out loud at him. “Don’t worry, darling. Both experience _and_ innocence will go a long ways with this dragon. You are the perfect match to his fire, a healer always is. Your kind is the only ones ever successfully paired with a dragon, did you know?”

“Auntie May mentioned something like that.” Peter overcame his embarrassment enough to pick a flower for his crown and pass it off to the Madame Witch. “That’s why you’re using daffodils, they symbolize _healing_ — new beginnings, rebirth, hope and innocence and peace.”

“Mm.” Pepper made a small noise of agreement. “And what do daffodils represent to a creature like a dragon?” 

“Self absorption.” Peter answered quietly. “In violet and when blooming alone daffodils represent misfortune and narcissism. They are a symbol of healing reflected against a symbol of selfishness and destruction.”

“A healer and a dragon, by nature.” She agreed. “Did you know the wild daffodils only bloom in this valley once every few decades, sometimes only once a century? We used to believe they signified a dragon familiar being born but in my entire life I’ve only known one dragon. Natasha has lived centuries longer and only known two, heard distantly of a few others across the sea. Daffodils are considered signs of great change, but whether fortune or misfortune follows behind has always been a mystery.”

“Uncle Ben told me dragons are the only familiar to grow stronger without the presence of a witch.” Peter tipped his head back when prompted so Pepper could reach the curls near his forehead. “That if the dragon isn’t matched, their power grows so quickly it nearly destroys them.”

“The Parker family are bear shifters, isn’t that right?” 

“Yes ma’am.”

“Bears are another nearly ancient shift, there was a time we didn’t think _they_ could be contained either.” Pepper wove a sprig of morning glory blooms into his hair for good luck. “Your Auntie— a tiger shift?”

“Yeah.” Peter's mouth tipped into a rueful smile. “Stripes and all. No one expected me to be witch, much less a healer, not with so many warrior familiar influences in my family.”

“Well _someone_ has to be here to stitch the wounds the warriors leave in their wake.” A twist of lavender was added to the crown to promote _calm_. “I think perhaps the warrior influence has strengthened your magic. Natasha knew about you the moment your magic presented, she knew you’d be the one to save our dragon. I wasn’t sure but now that I’ve met you…” 

She sighed, her heart still unsure about sending so young a witch to the dragon’s lair. “... I have to admit I can sense extraordinary power within your soul.” 

“Uncle Ben told me that when someone can do the sort of things I can do, I have a responsibility to do them and do them well.” Peter’s palm tinted _golden_ as his magic shimmered in the air between them. “I thought he meant I’d have to get extra good at healing internal injuries, not at soothing dragons. I didn’t know what to think when you sent word for me to come to _Magic and Magnolias_.”

“Life has a way of surprising us all, doesn’t it?” 

They were quiet a moment, both witches lost in thought about the upcoming meet between dragon and healer, and then into the silence Pepper sang the first few lines of a nearly forgotten nursery rhyme--

_Be careful into the hills my love_

_for there the dragons sleep_

_Guard yourself and your gold_

_lest they claim your soul to keep_

“My Auntie used to sing that to me.” Peter realized. “But I never knew what it meant.” 

“The warnings about dragons aren’t talking about gold and virgin sacrifices.” the wind witch said slowly. “They are about familiars carried away by the force of their magic and their shift. The gold isn’t gold, it’s the things a dragon familiar craves and hoards the most-- acceptance, love, _safety_ for their fire to rage without fear of burning. A virgin isn’t some human construct of purity, it’s about innocence, the sort of trust that only comes of wholehearted love, without reservation and without ulterior motives.” 

“And the warning?” Peter’s fingers knotted at his trousers as he got nervous again. “To guard myself?” 

“Many a witch has thought they could temper a dragon, only to be destroyed by the very power they tried to leash.” The flower crown was nearly finished now. “Witches and familiars are meant to give themselves whole heartedly to one another, but only when they are well paired. A witch cannot ask too much of their familiar too soon, but neither can they hold back past the point where their familiar needs them. The relationship is meant to be all-consuming, but any imbalance will simply _consume_ you and with a dragon…” 

Pepper’s steady fingers faltered. “Pete, with a dragon there is a very thin line between balanced and lost. Guard yourself carefully.” 

“The dragon Waidson is dangerous.” Peter stated rather than asked and Pepper didn’t hesitate to agree. “That’s why he was collared, to hold him from his dragon form and the destruction that would be unleashed.” 

“The collar tampers Waidson’s magic.” she nodded slowly. “Forces him to human and hurts if he tries to shift. It’s cruel by any standard, but it would been crueler to allow him to rage. The dragon lost his first witch centuries ago, and the blood he spilled in his grief turned the rivers red. The forests burned down around us and when he shifted back to human and saw everything he’d done--” 

The witch swallowed hard, heartbreak leeching into her words. “Peter, there isn’t a witch alive strong enough to kill a dragon. Certainly not back then, and while myself and Natasha could maybe manage to wound him while his collar is on and he is weakened, there’s still a chance we couldn’t kill him now. All those centuries ago Waidson came out of his shift and fell to his knees in front of our coven, he begged us to kill him, to let him join his witch in death and we had to tell him no.”

“...you _wanted_ to kill him?” 

“We wanted to ease his pain, and sometimes death is the only way.” Pepper stepped away to find a mirror so Peter could see himself. “But only matched magic can kill a dragon and that magic no longer exists, or at least not that we can find. He begged us to kill him and we had to tell him _no_ and when he tried to do it himself--” 

“A familiar’s magic prevents them from self harm, even prevents them from sacrificing their life for their witch in times of trouble.” Peter’s face went very pale. “You collared him so he wouldn’t try again?” 

“The collar saves the world from his grief, but saves him as well.” Pepper held up the mirror. “The longer the dragon’s gone without a healer to bring him balance, the weaker the collar grows and the closer he gets to breaking. One day soon it might be too late. You must present yourself to the dragon as an equal, as someone who sees his hurt and wants to heal it, but someone strong enough to withstand the brunt of his fury.” 

“His fury.” Peter stared at his reflection, the flowers sitting on his curly hair, the way the bright colors reflected in his wide eyes. “I’m practically a child by witch standards, especially healer standards. Most healers have seen two hundred years before they are allowed a familiar, I’ve only seen _fifty_. How could we ever be equals?” 

“You are equals because your magic is the closest matched Natasha has ever seen.” Pepper said gently. “You are equals because your want to heal is just as strong as his want to rage. And your age isn’t the hindrance you suppose it is.” 

“ _How_?” 

“An older witch would be tainted against Waidson already.” Pepper swept her fingers through Peter’s hair to arrange it artfully. “The older we are the more we see people’s true nature, the selfishness and anger, the way someone can hurt another and not care at all. Healers are empaths but the older healers grow weary of the world, weary of being surrounded by pain. You are young enough to still see the good in every soul, the worth in every heart, to feel thrilled every time you heal even the smallest cut or soothe a heartbreak. Only an innocent witch could see a dragon such as Waidson and not turn away in horror.” 

And then quieter, “He scents of _blood_ , Peter. Of death and grief and anger. This will not be an easy bond to forge or maintain, but you have to try. You have to. The dragons life and that of countless thousands more is on the line.” 

The mirror clattered back to the table and Peter’s hands clenched once, twice before he asked, “Do you think Waidson will love me?” 

“Love.” Pepper repeated curiously. “You could very well lose your head to this beast and you’re thinking of love?”

“The witch familiar bond is akin to soulmates.” the witch touched his heart gently. “You said it yourself-- it’s all consuming. Do you think he will love me?” 

“Peter…” 

“I’ve never been loved before.” Magic lit at Peter’s finger tips again, golden and soothing and _warm_. “People appreciate my healing and they want me in their bed, I gain satisfaction from healing and I know I am wanted. I am beloved as a healer but I’ve never been truly _loved_ for who I am beyond my powers and beneath my magic.. _._ I wonder what it’s like.” 

A ringing sound rent the air, a pulse of magic that sent the wind chimes to spinning and the lights to flickering before a silver bound scroll and a heavy, blood stained key appeared on the desk by the wall. 

“...I guess I’ll just have to wait and find out.” Peter forced a smile to his face that belied the anxiety crawling up his throat, all the _what if’s_ and _wonderings_ about whether or not he could bond with a dragon and save a soul, whether or not his healing was enough for Waidson’s heart and if the dragon would give him the love the young witch only allowed himself to wish for during the quiet moments before dawn.

“Sign, my little love.” Pepper smoothed the scroll out on the desk, and Peter signed his signature beneath the dragon’s brand, watched the ink blur and melt into the charmed parchment like blood. “Take the key and hold it close to your heart so you don’t lose it.” 

Peter clutched the key tight, felt it thrumming in his hand and wet his lips nervously. “Alright. I’m ready.” 

Pepper’s expression was nearly sad, her bright green eyes dimmed in regret. “Are you?”

“Yes.” he held the key tighter, until the stained edges cut into his palms. “Healers are drawn to fire, to the phoenix that rises from the ashes, to the life that always finds a way after so much destruction. I’m ready. Take me to my dragon.” 

**********

**Chapter Notes:**

> _Ho ho holy verse-lore batman. You’ll recognize some of the world building from my SP Dragon AU I wrote a few years ago, I’m so excited to turn those pretty basic ideas into something great in this verse._
> 
> _First lets talk about Natasha being an absolute BAMF of a witch. Don’t let the knick knacks and corsets fool you, there’s a reason they call her Madame, amiright?_
> 
> _Wade is so sad in this. I named him Waidson because he’s such an ancient beast his first name has long been forgotten and only his surname is known. More on that next chapter. Also an up close and personal look at him which I’m SUPER excited for because I spent far too much time imagining how he looked in this verse and I wish I could Art cos he deserves to be drawn._
> 
> _Baby witch Peter is so soft. Knowing he’s got a ridiculous amount of power and should use it for good, honestly a little slutty since everyone wants to f*ck the healer witch (like the creator god thing from my Hades/Persephone SP fic?), but he wants to know what it means to be loved SO BADLY and oh look, only a healer witch can bond with a dragon, it’s almost like he and Wade are soulmates and THAT’S why Peter has never found true love!_
> 
> _I love Pepper being so soft with Peter, oh man. I know these stories aren’t really about Pepper/Nat but like... they’re sort of all about Pepper and Nat and I love them._
> 
> _**[Daffodils](https://flower-meanings.com/daffodil-meaning/)** are a March birth flower (see what I did there with my posting date?) _


	2. Chapter 2

The dragon felt the change in the air that signified the arrival of a wind witch a full minute before Pepper blew into the clearing with the healer clutched to her side, and when he felt it he _retreated_ , stepping back until the shadows fell over his shoulders and hid the worst of his scars, his scales, the faint designs of tattoos that only appeared in the moonlight. 

Once the familiar had been proud of his size, of his armor. Once the dragon had thought himself beautiful. Now Waidson was tired and broken and _empty_ and he wished the shadows had teeth to devour him so he wouldn’t have to be here facing his fate.

_Not redemption, balance, a healer._

_Don’t you dare._

“My love.” Pepper stepped from the maelstrom without a single hair out of place, without a single clasp on her shirt undone or her cheeks even flushed from the journey. “Natasha, come here and let me dress you.” 

Natasha preferred to be covered, and her wife stepped forward immediately with a ready cloak to swirl around her shoulders, covering the smaller redhead from chin to toes in warmth. “Thank you, darling.” Nat tucked her hands into the pockets and tipped her head so Pepper could twist her long hair up into a clip. “This feels much better.” 

“As much as I love you half bared to the sunshine and as unbound as a wood nymph, I much prefer you comfortable.” Pepper murmured, and from across the clearing the dragon curled his lip at the display of affection. A thousand years and they still carried on as if they were newly bonded and Waidson was so jealous, so devastatingly _lonely_ that it welled up like acid in his throat and poured smoke from his mouth and nose as he exhaled over a low growl, fire building in his chest and claws _flexing_ as he tightened his hands to fists. 

A thousand years and it wasn’t fair how much it still hurt to _exist_.

“Dragon?”

The fire extinguished in a huff, the dragon’s eyes darkening to hazel again when a quiet voice broke through the jealousy and into his thoughts. It was the healer witch Pepper had brought along in her windstorm, wide eyed and young and scenting far too innocent to be the one meant to bring him balance. 

No, not this one with a gold flecked eyes and a flower crown balanced in his curls, not this one with a fascinated smile and curious tilt to his head as he studied Waidson’s damage. 

_Not this one._

“Dragon.” the witch said again, and Waidson’s gaze darted right to watch the daffodil blooms shudder and blur bright as the witch came closer. _No no no._ He could feel the press of power, the lure of magic that reached out along the jagged edges of his shift and tried to blanket _warmth_ over the pain. The touch was intimate, familiar, terrifying and the dragon recoiled from it, from the memories it coaxed from the darkest corners of his mind.

 **No**.

“My name is Peter.” The healer made a brief motion from his temple to his heart, an empath’s greeting that promised their intentions were kind, that the influence they’d exert on his mind and soul would be gentle. “I’m from the clan Parker near the coast.”

Waidson could hear the witch’s heartbeat quicken with each step closer, and he tilted his head away so he didn’t have to _look_. It was bad enough the healers magic matched his own to the point of making him ache, somehow worse that the witch was beautiful and steady and pure.

 _Innocent_ , and the tempting hint of honeysuckle in the healer’s scent proved the child had never known love or grief or melded with another familiar for even a short time.

 _Innocent_ and it made the dragon _growl_. 

“Waidson.” Pepper blurred from her wife’s side to Peter's side in half a second, but her sure footing faltered when she saw him up close for the first time. “Oh darling, time has marched forward all these years and left you behind in misery, hasn't it?”

Waidson smiled, just a curl of his lip and a snarl of fangs. “Your good wife had the decency not to lie to me, Madame. Tell me I look like a nightmare and get on with this.”

“Fine. You look like a nightmare.” Pepper said flatly, and even though the words cut deep, the dragon’s smile stretched a little wider at the blunt truth. Lies made fools of them all, empty platitudes and cleverly turned phrases didn't disguise the truth anymore than lace soaked up blood or a spring rain drowned a fire. There was no reason to _pretend_ when the truth was the dragon looked gruesome, that it would take more gauze than the valley held to cover the blood his bite had spilled, when it took a flood to wash away the scent of brimstone from the air.

_No reason to pretend._

“You look like a nightmare.” The wind witch had always been softer than her healer mate, and the air currents that stirred warm around Waidson’s shoulders begged quiet forgiveness. “But even nightmares fade when dawn pours over the mountain side. Come into the light dragon, come forward and let us see you.” 

“Do not dishonor the contract by holding yourself away.” Natasha warned, fully covered now but no less intimidating as she lowered herself to walk the cold ground instead of hovering above it. “Your witch has offered up his name to you, come and do the same.” 

In the old days when witch and familiar had blended community with the fae, offering someone their name meant _trust_ , it meant acceptance, it meant allowing another creature to hold sway over a part of their soul. Bonds were forged between witch and familiar with a whisper of their name alone, the secret guarded jealously and held tight until death and often times the surviving partner would change their name before bonding again. 

_Natalya, Nadya, Talia, Tasha, Natasha._

_Wilkinia, Ginata, Vivi, Virginia, Pepper._

For most, the significance of names had lessened and fallen away as the communities grew beyond their coven and intermingled with humans. But a healer still asked for a name before they worked to be sure their potions and charms connected to their patients core being and a creature such as a dragon would only give their name as a way to shackle themselves to their witch. 

Names had power, whether most had forgotten or not. 

Pepper and Natasha had not forgotten. Peter had not forgotten. And the dragon still hidden half in shadows had not forgotten but he hesitated, and upon that hesitation Natasha sighed with resignation on her lovely face, Pepper with heartbreak dimming her green eyes jade. 

The dragon _hesitated_ , and the Madame Witches shared a look that wondered together if today would be the last day a dragon walked the Earth--

\--but the healer witch only cocked his head and smiled, inched closer and held out his hand coaxingly. 

“You can call me Pete.” he said with a wrinkle of his nose and a flash of gold in those dark eyes. “No one else calls me that.” 

Natasha sucked in a quiet, _harsh_ breath and Peter continued in the same nearly amused tone,. “My Uncle calls me kiddo. My Auntie calls me Peter Benjamin when I’m in trouble. Gwen calls me sassy and Johnny calls me ‘fuck off’ when me and Harry pull pranks on him, but no one calls me Pete.” 

Softer, the healer witch young but well aware of the weight his words carried, “ _You_ can call me Pete, you and you alone, Dragon. That name will be yours.”

“My name is--” the familiar was speaking before he meant to, before he could help himself, the centuries forced silence giving way almost immediately beneath the warmth of the healers presence and the open offer of _intimacy_. “My name is—“

His first witch had called him _Maevnussut_ , lord of fire. His family’s name at some past point beyond history had been Waidson and after he had burned from his witch’s loss, after he had carved his grief in swaths of hellfire and screamed his rage in sulfur, the name _Maevnussut Waidson_ had been lost beneath the ash. 

The coven called the dragon _Waidson_ , his historical surname and nothing more because he was history and nothing else. 

But the healer had offered him _Pete_ , a new name that would only be his should he choose to take it, a name that tied them together as bonded because the dragon had _Pete_ when no one else did. It was the promise of something more than loneliness, something other than pain coaxed the familiar to clear his throat and offer something in return. 

“You may have Wade… as my name.” 

“Wade.” The air shifted and crackled with the exchange of names, the moment lost neither on the Madame Witches nor the healer and familiar testing the first stirrings of their bond. “Thank you.” 

Peter-- _Pete_ \-- held out his hand again for Wade, curled his fingers and wet his lips waiting for the familiar to meet him halfway, but Wade stayed where he was in the shadows, bracing himself against the urge to give in. 

“You’d give me your name but not your hand.” Peter whispered curiously. “How is a touch more intimate than a word? A bond requires both to meet halfway, Wade. Come to me.” 

“There is no halfway with a dragon.” Wade’s rumble was almost hungry, unconsciously pleading, and neither the Madame Witches nor the dragon missed the flare of gold in Peter’s eyes, the way the healer’s breath audibly hitched over the sound. 

“Then once we are alone, we’ll try again.” Peter turned to Pepper and Natasha and smiled, touched his temple then his heart in a goodbye to the healer witch and smiled sweetly at the wind witch. “Leave me and my dragon to know each other.” 

“He is awfully young to be so confident.” Natasha murmured to her wife and her wife murmured right back, “You were the one who chose him, my love. Doubting yourself?” 

“Never.” Natasha shook her head as they watched Peter move slowly towards his familiar, then raised her voice, “Dragon! Remember my warning!” 

“Peter, darling.” Pepper said softly, “Remember my warning.” 

_Be careful into the hills, my love…_

***********

“My camp is close to here, not much of a walk.” After the Madame Witches had gone, Peter turned his attention back to Wade but instead of advancing onto the dragon and effectively backing the beast into a corner, the healer paused only close enough for his honeysuckle scent to waft to Wade’s nose, far enough away for Wade to maintain his space. 

“The Madames asked me to make my camp at the base of the mountains so I would be close by if needed.” 

“And if you weren’t needed?” came the low answer, nearly a growl through the shadows, but Peter only smiled-- 

“Then I’d be close by all the same. Will you walk with me?” 

Confident the familiar would follow-- or perhaps just stubborn enough to leave anyway-- Peter started off into the brush at the opposite side of the clearing, skirting the circular pattern where Natasha’s magic had disturbed the Earth and not daring to step inside. It was a left over habit from living where the fae still made their marks deep in the forest, and while a witch’s circle didn’t carry the same sort of obligations or curse, Peter wasn’t going to risk it. 

Wade had no such compunctions about risk. The dragon waited in the shadows until Peter-- _Pete_ \-- had almost left the clearing altogether before moving. He didn’t have to follow just then, any predator would have been able to track the healer by the honeysuckle scent alone but the act of exchanging names had tied their souls together just a little bit so when the fluff of Peter’s curls disappeared into the shrubbery, Wade moved from the shadows and _followed_. 

He tromped right through Natasha’s witch circle, kicked a few stones just for good measure and for a second Wade thought he heard a huff of laughter and caught the sparkle of knowing, bright eyes in the leaves before the witch kept moving and the dragon kept following. 

It was silent in the forest beyond the muted sound of Pete’s footsteps and the quietly coaxing sound of his heartbeat that drew Wade closer and closer despite the voices that whispered round in his head to stay away. He’d been tired for so long, and now he was so tired to say no. He’d been alone for _so long_ , and then on day the daffodils bloomed and suddenly he _wasn’t_ alone. 

_Honeysuckle and healing._

_Ancient dragons and the promise of daffodils._

For the better part of an hour, Wade followed along behind Peter as the witch picked his careful way along a narrow game path, light hands trailing through the plants and nimble fingers plucking berries and leaves as he went. Sometimes Pete sampled what he plucked, licked blueberry juice off his lips and crunched curiously at a sprig, other times he tucked the ingredients into the pouch slung round his chest for later. The witch looked like a wood nymph with the daffodils in his hair and sunlight filtering across his smile and the sight almost made the dragon smile too. 

_Almost_. 

“This is Edith.” They reached a modest little campsite tucked into the base of the mountain as the afternoon sun was starting to cast blue shadows past the trees, and Peter hurried to produce an apple slice for the beautiful roan mare waiting patiently in the shade. “Pretty girl, pretty thing, thank you for waiting for me.” 

“She’s your familiar?” Wade stayed a more than necessary distance away from the equine, flaring his nostrils to try and taste any additional _magic_ in the air. He couldn’t scent anything except for Peter, honeysuckle and golden warmth and daffodils, and the Madame Witches had emphasized the healers innocence, the lack of a previous familiar, the lack of anything that might somehow taint Peter’s perception of dragons. 

He _knew_ Pete didn’t have another familiar, but the dragon asked anyway, clenching claws into a fist and rotating his wrist until the scales slashing up his forearms caught the fading sunlight and glinted _red_. 

“She’s your familiar?” he asked again, and this time it was almost a growl as an unexpected rush of insecurity flushed Wade’s face. “Edith?” 

“ _You’re_ my familiar.” Peter answered easily, quickly, leaning in to rub noses with Edith and purring at the mare sweetly. “Edith pulls my cart because my magic shorts out these modern cars, lets me ride her when my legs get tired and has been my sweetheart for almost ten years now, haven’t you, beauty?” 

The witch glanced over his shoulder at Wade and wrinkled his nose curiously, “Come into the light, Dragon. Come meet Edith.” 

“Horses don’t like me.” Wade backed up a step further when Edith snorted in his direction loudly. “I scent like brimstone and death to most animals, especially the larger prey.” 

“That’s…” Peter’s eyes flashed golden as he laughed. “That’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard! Horses aren’t _prey_!” 

“They are to dragons.” Wade didn’t want to smile, but when the healer witch only laughed harder, he finally cracked the smallest allowable smile that wouldn’t show any fang. “Everything is prey to a dragon.” 

“So says the all seeing owl to all the mice in the field.” Peter chuckled again and ducked under Edith’s neck so he could get to the water bucket and get the mare a drink. “Come meet Edith, Wade. She won’t bite and if _you_ bite, I’ll poison your dinner and make you barf fire.” 

Wade blinked a few times, eyes twitching yellow and collar burning as it resisted the slightest bit of magic. “You’ll make me _barf fire_?” 

“I said what I said.” The healer took the daffodil crown off his hair and carefully separated the circle so he could wind it into Edith’s mane. “And by the way, you don’t scent like brimstone and death.” 

“...no?” Something cracked in Wade’s heart, splintered like lava crust and glowed with unfamiliar _hope_. “What do I scent like?” 

“Like….” Peter kept braiding the flowers into the horse’s nearly blond hair, lips pursed in thought. “...like bonfires in the summer time when the night is dark but the stars are bright and if you listen closely enough, you can hear the fae laughing between the sparks popping and if you look closely enough, you might see the will-o-wisps dancing through the smoke.” 

And then with a near devilish smirk wholly at odds with the beautiful description, he added, “ _And_ as if you haven’t had a bath in several hundred years. But I won’t hold that against you, seeing as how you’re ancient and all.” 

“Ancient.” The dragon echoed. “I’m ancient?” 

“Ancient enough to have that old person smell.” Peter lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug, and if Wade hadn’t been so instantly transfixed by the sight of bare skin when the loose tunic slid off to the side and halfway down the witch’s arm, he might have actually breathed _smoke_ at being told he smelled. 

As it was, the dragon only kept his distance and bit his tongue until it bled, determined to ignore the lure of bond that already strung fragile between their souls. 

He had asked the Madame’s for death and instead they’d given him Peter-- empath, healer, flowers and golden magic. 

He didn’t want it. 

He didn’t _want_ it. 

“A bonfire on summer nights?” the dragon’s low voice rumbled over the words and the instant brilliance of Peter’s smile soothed against the edges of his soul. “The fae laughing between the sparks. Are all healers ready to talk such nonsense?” 

“Are all dragons ready to growl at a moments notice and threaten to eat my pony?” 

“I didn’t threaten to eat her.” 

“You called her prey!” 

The familiar _growled_ and Peter bared fangless teeth and growled right back, the teasing so unexpected that it shut Wade right up, his growl cutting off mid breath.

“That’s what I thought.” Peter busied himself pulling small dishes from his pack, arranging the edible plants he’d gathered into a bowl to cut up for their evening meal along with a carefully wrapped package of rabbit meat. “Come from the shadows, Dragon. Help me make a fire and ready our dinner.” 

“You’re going to feed me?” 

Peter looked up, dark eyes glowing soft and lips curving sweetly. “You’re my _familiar_ , Wade. Come from the shadows and sit with me.” 

********** 

By the time the stars came out, dinner had been eaten and the dishes cleaned, packed away to avoid attracting any scavengers before morning meal. Edith munched contentedly on grass at the edge of the clearing, daffodils shaking from her mane and crushing sweet perfume into the air, and Peter sat slouched against his bedroll, scribbling furiously in his notebook. 

Wade hadn’t eaten. No matter the legends or foolish stories the humans whispered, dragons only ate when they were hungry and he hadn’t been hungry in a long time. That and the measly rabbit the witch had cooked barely seemed like enough food to feed Peter alone, much less a dragon. 

No, Wade hadn’t eaten. Instead he’d sat mostly hidden and simply _watched_ , kept his distance from the mare so she wouldn’t startle, kept his distance from the healer so Peter wouldn’t stare, kept his distance and let himself look because Pete was _beautiful_ in the flicking firelight and it had been a long time since Wade had thought anything was beautiful at all. 

“I can feel you staring at me.” Peter didn’t look up from his notebook, didn’t even pause in his writing. “Your eyes are like laser beams, I can feel the heat and also--” now the witch glanced up, a teasing smile round his lips. “--also your eyes glow in the dark so I can tell you haven’t blinked in several minutes which would be ridiculously creepy if I were the sort of witch to find that sort of thing ridiculously creepy.” 

“You’re not that sort of witch?” The dragon blinked slowly, purposefully, and Peter’s smile stretched wider. “How unfortunate.” 

“You’re hilarious for an old person.” the healer informed him. “Come closer to the fire, would you? I’ve been working on a poultice for your skin and I’d like to see what you think of the ingredients or if you have any ideas on what might work better. I’ve stayed inland for the last several years so my supplies aren’t as full as usual, but if something from the sea helps the pain I’d be happy to--” 

“I don’t want it.” Wade moved from the edge of the campsite closer to the fire, sat cross legged on the other side of the pit and met the witch’s gaze through the smoke. “I don’t want anything to help with the pain.” 

“...this is what I do.” For the first time since meeting, Peter’s steady aura faltered, his eyes dimming. “Wade, this is how I prove myself worthy to be your witch, by creating something to ease your pain and helping soothe what the centuries did to you. I’m young and I’m still learning but the Madame’s wouldn’t have paired us together if they didn’t think we matched--” 

“I don’t _want_ it.” Almost a snarl and Wade had to resist the urge to immediately croon after, to erase the flare of sadness he saw in the healer’s expression. “Leave it be, witch.” 

“This is what I do.” Peter repeated, softer. “And I’ve never felt anyone who hurts the way you do. Let me help.” 

“No.” A flash of magic and the fire flickered, then the collar burned molten on Wade’s neck and he growled, stiffened, veins standing in stark relief at his arms as he clenched his fists against the pain. 

“No.” Quietly so the collar wouldn’t burn him again. “The pain is the only way I know I’m alive.” 

“I thought you asked the coven to kill you.” 

“And since they won’t, I’d rather suffer and know I _live_ than be numb and hope I’m dead.” The dragon’s eyes shaded white and the collar glowed again. “I don’t want your poultice. I don’t want your help.” 

“Then what do you want from me?” For the second time, Peter’s easy nature faltered, slipped and the familiar felt an uncomfortable jolt of guilt that he would be the one to temper the healers sweet spirit. “Why did you agree to the match if you didn’t want me to help you?” 

“I wasn’t given a choice.” Wade said dully and Peter gasped softly in understanding, his hand going to the leather strap at his neck where he’d threaded the heavy key. “I’ve gone too long in this collar and I’m close to breaking. The Madame Witches granted me one reprieve - you- and the alternative to this match is death, forced to my shift and slaughtered before my mind is lost to the dragon.” 

“Would it hurt?” the healer was holding the key now, clutching it tight enough for his knuckles to turn white. “Would it hurt to have your shift forced?” 

Wade swallowed but didn’t answer, didn’t want to tell the witch how being forced felt like being _violated_ , how it turned his mind inside out and flayed his soul open for the world to see and it hurt and hurt and _hurt_. He shook his head instead, and changed the subject-- “Why do you wear my key over your heart?” 

“Where else would I wear it?” Peter accepted the switch in topic with the usual good naturedness Wade had already started to expect from him. “I assumed it belonged over my heart for sake keeping.” 

“Most would put it in a box where I could never reach it.” Wade shrugged, but memories made his tone bitter. “Once upon a time, the coven buried it in the sea beneath the guard of the Kraken. Another time it was lost to the clouds with the golden eagles because I cannot fly in this form and I’d never reach it. When Natasha retrieved it today, it was buried among the diamonds deep in the earth. But you-- you wear it out in the open?” 

“I want the key here where I can hold it.” Peter frowned. “Where I can protect it. A condition of our bonding was that I hold the key to your shift, why would I hide that away where we can’t reach it.” 

“Because you should never want me to shift.” The words came flat, full, and the healer’s golden flecked eyes shuttered in understood sadness. “You should toss the key into the ocean.” 

“I’d never.” Peter covered the key with both hands. “I’m not afraid of you.” 

“You should be.” The dragon stood to his feet and stepped closer to the flames, tipped his head back to the night sky and let the sparks crash against the scars and scales along his body, inked designs stark on his ravaged skin, the smoke arcing up above his shoulders like ghostly wings and fangs bared gleaming in the moonlight. 

Peter stared up at him with parted lips and wide eyes, breath coming faster when the familiar rolled his shoulders and the muscles shifted, _bulged_ , the collar lit _red_ as his eyes lit _yellow_ when his shift inched closer to the surface. 

“What’s the matter, little witch?” the dragon whispered, tasting the bolt of fear in the honeysuckle scent, tasting a shiver of something else altogether when the witch’s eyes tinted gold. “You’ve never seen a monster before?”

*****

**Chapter Notes:**

> _BOY-HOY-HOWDY Do I love Dragon!Shifter Wade. I am warm for that boy’s form, okay? Tattoos that will be explained later but only glow in the moonlight? Scales and scars? A collar that glows when he gets growly? HOLLA._
> 
> _I love the lore in this fic. I feel like if I’d had any idea the Hexes and Honeysuckle story would create such a fun universe, I would have worked harder on that lore but it’s sort of fun to explore a little bit further in each fic and this one will be the most intense._
> 
> _I love sassy healer Peter. He is totally not afraid of the big bad dragon and has such a good heart that he just wants to help but also, calling Wade out for smelling like an old man and threatening to poison him is top tier._
> 
> _Also how soft is Pepper showing up to Nat with a cloak to cover her and a clip for her hair? She loves her wife nekkid but she knows Nat is more comfortable mostly covered so that’s what she does? Love wlw power couples_


	3. Chapter 3

They traveled together for a week, the healer witch soaking in every bit of sunshine and light on their way through the forest, the dragon familiar moving on silent feet through the shade just off the path. 

There wasn’t much to say to each other-- or rather, there was _plenty_ to say to each other, Wade just didn’t want to say it-- but that didn’t stop Peter from chatting aimlessly as they walked towards some still unnamed destination where the healer would be needed. 

The witch was excited and animated with all his words, his hands never still whether he was gesturing wildly for a story or stopping to quickly pick ingredients to put in his pouch. Wade thought perhaps the flowers turned their blooms to face them whenever Peter laughed at one of his own jokes, he thought maybe the birds sang a little sweeter when the witch trilled up at them in song, but that was _ridiculous_. 

Once upon a time there had been creator gods that tuned nature to their very breath, but Peter wasn’t a creator god and the forest didn’t shiver itself further awake when he passed…

...just like the blooms didn’t wilt or the grass blacken with remembered _smoke_ when Wade stepped through the fields. 

_Right?_

Peter was brilliant but beguiling, wholly innocent but certainly not naïve. The stream of one sided conversation meandered to and fro, twisting every which way towards serious topics and then back to wondering if the humans _honestly_ believed the world was flat then abruptly jumping into a breathless exclamation of excitement over finding a particularly rare plant. The conversation seemed pointless, but through it all, intelligence and _knowing_ gleamed deep in the witch’s eyes and while his little smile never truly faded, it never truly lifted either. 

The healer was excellent at dispelling tension and gifted with the ability to set even the most skittish souls at ease, but kindness didn’t mean obliviousness and the gift didn’t mean _he_ wasn’t nervous as well. 

He was traveling with a dragon, tentatively bonded to a familiar not even the covens could bring to heel and spending hours rambling about mint and how it was so useful for a plant that was nearly a predator taking over gardens and choking out other growth did _nothing_ to detract from the prickling truth of their situation.

His familiar was a dragon, and Peter a witch with little experience. All the pleasant, mindless conversation in the world couldn’t take away from the _awareness_ that tingled between them. 

They were meant for _more_ together even if the odds were stacking depressingly high against victory and happiness. Peter wasn’t going to stop trying and Wade-- Wade might be in the shadows but he was here and that had to be enough for now.

The evenings were a little awkward. 

Wade came close enough to help Peter set up camp, but _only_ if Peter waited until the sun had started to dip behind the mountains and the dusk stretched almost gloomy at their heels. Then the dragon would move across the path and into the campsite to unload Edith’s heavier bags and roll out Peter’s bedroll. Sometimes he even disappeared into the brush for fresh meat and Peter never asked _how_ Wade caught the rabbit or quail so the familiar never offered up the information. 

Wade didn’t eat anything he caught. He watched to be sure the witch ate his fill, helped Peter package up the remaining meat for the next day and then retreated to the other side of the fire to _wait_. He had nothing to add to the conversation, nothing to contribute to Peter’s nightly journaling on the plants and animals they’d come across during the day’s travel, nothing to offer the witch except vigilance and the promise that no animal would _dare_ encroach on their little circle of firelight while a dragon sat nearby. 

Wade didn’t eat and he didn’t sleep either. The first night Peter laid out blankets alongside his own bedroom, smoothed them out before squinting at the familiar and adding another blanket at the end because Wade was tall, much taller than the witch and he would need the extra space. 

But Wade didn’t sleep, so the second night the healer crushed lavender blooms in his bowl and sprinkled them along the pillow. The dragon had to work hard not to smile at the blatant attempt to woo him with sleepy flowers. 

He _didn’t_ sleep though, so on the third night Peter switched out a flat pillow for a thicker one, heated a sweet chocolate drink and set it purposefully at the bed roll, waiting with an indulgent smile for the familiar to join him. 

“I don’t sleep.” Wade grunted, eyes reflecting fire from the pit. “Don’t know the last time I even closed my eyes.” 

“What do you do all night?” In a motion that almost seemed happy Wade hadn’t taken the chocolate, Peter retrieved the cup and gulped it down, licked the sweet drink off his upper lip. “Please don’t say you watch me while I sleep. That’s weird.”

“Of course I watch you.” came the low answer, and something unexpected and _hot_ flickered in the center of Peter’s body. “Either you or the stars.” 

“What do the stars tell you?” 

“The same thing they’ve told me for a thousand years.” 

Peter waited, sipping at his drink, eyes calm and posture relaxed while Wade worked through his answer. “What do the stars tell you, Wade?” 

“...that I’ve seen the planets circle the sun for longer than I should have been allowed.”

The healer witch was innocent to the physical effects of a bond, but not innocent to the _knowing_. Peter knew most witch-familiar pairs ended up sexually involved simply because their magic strengthened with physical contact and what better physical contact than to be entwined together? The bond struck their souls and melded their emotions and physically intimacy followed so easily, why would they ever resist? 

The physical contact between Wade and Peter was non existent right now, the distance of several feet feeling closer to several _miles_ while the lightest strings of bonding stretched far between their hearts. Peter knew he’d have to wait until the dragon trusted him-- _if_ the dragon ever trusted him-- to welcome the familiar to his bedside simply to lie close and share the same space. The healer couldn’t imagine a being as ancient as Wade cared about sex anymore and Peter didn’t let himself dwell on the thought too long anyway. The pull of their bond was insistent enough to have him making room for the dragon every night at his side, but light enough that Peter didn’t feel bereft or lonely yet and that was enough for now. 

“Come from the shadows and lie by me.” he offered on night four and five and six. 

“I don’t sleep.” the familiar answered on night four and five and six.

“Lie by me anyway?” 

Peter fell asleep alone every night that first week. 

Some nights he woke up and saw his familiar sitting by the fire watching. 

Some nights he woke up and saw his familiar sitting _in_ the fire, surrounded by flames and not being burned, the collar at his throat glowing like coals against scaled skin, eyes reflecting like Wade was watching the eons passing before his gaze.

_Come from the shadows, Dragon._

*****

“Someone needs me.” One morning when the sun was high and the spring heat nearly sweltering, Peter switched directions abruptly from picking through a patch of clover and headed towards the faint sound of water at their left. “I need to go fishing.” 

“You need to go… _fishing_.” It had been a long time since Wade was surprised by anything or anyone, but he was constantly surprised by Peter. “Why is that? I thought someone needed you.” 

And then with his head cocked curiously because he didn’t remember that particular habit from his first witch-- “Can you _feel_ it when someone needs you?” 

“It hurts a little right here.” Peter tapped at his heart and picked up the pace till he was nearly running towards the river, whistling sharply for Edith to pull the cart and follow him along the wide path. “Like a twinge or a hitch and if I ignore it, it gets sharper until I can’t breathe for the pain.” 

Wade’s brows drew together in a frown. “When does it ease?” 

“I follow the twinge until I find the person who needs healing, and once I’m done, the pain stops.” Peter made short work of his shoes and rolled up his pant legs once they reached a bend of the river, pulled a simple line and hook from his ever present pack. “I need to fish before I go and find them, though.” 

“They need you, and it hurts.” the dragon came out into the sunshine without noticing, too curious about ~~his~~ the witch’s power to notice his own actions, uncomfortably upset by the idea of Peter hurting because some stranger needed healing. “That isn’t fair.”

“Not really, but it’s what I do.” Peter's breath hitched a little as the pain apparently shifted _worse_. “It’s fine right now, this time around it’s hardly anything. I just need to fish a little and then we can figure out who needs me. Do you fish?” 

“...no.” Wade ran his tongue over the edge of one dangerous fang, the sting and cut of blood doing little to distract him from the irritation growing in his chest. “It isn’t fine that you’re hurting, witch. I don’t like that.”

“I don’t like that _you’re_ hurting either, but you don’t see me complaining when you won’t let me treat you.” If Peter thought it was odd for the dragon to be so protective— or if he were pleased the familiar’s instincts were clamoring to keep him safe— he didn’t say it, only winked and waded into the river. “This should only take me an hour or so, which isn’t long enough for the pain to get too difficult. Then we’ll take Edith towards the nearest town and see who is there that needs help.”

“Why the fish?” Against his better judgment, Wade wandered towards the water as well vision narrowing and sharpening as he watched the silver glints beneath the surface that were fattened trout neatly avoiding Peter's lure. “If you’re hungry, I’ll find meat for you.”

“It’s not for me.” The healer’s dark eyes sparkled gold when his familiar so easily, so _casually_ , offered to take care of him. “Most of the places that call to me with a need for healing are smaller communities without doctors of their own. The bigger cities have hospitals and clinics, but the towns and villages where humans hold to the old ways and the influence of magic is strong in the land usually don’t have anything more modern than running water and sometimes electricity. No modern medicine, no access to hospitals, they still ride horses and grow all their own food and when it comes to money, most have very little.”

Peter's fingertips lit _bright_ and traveled down the length of the fishing line, and almost immediately a trout diverted from its lazy swimming and snapped onto his hook. The healer witch breathed a quiet blessing of _thank you_ to the fish before lifting it from the water, carefully extracting the hook and handing the slippery thing over to Wade to lay out in the sun. The hook went back in the water and the dragon watched in mild fascination as another fish immediately latched on.

“I’ve learned that most people will try to pay me in some way for the gift of my healing.” Peter tossed the fish towards Wade. “But my healing is _only_ a gift, so I always decline. I can’t take from people that have so little but I also can’t insult their generosity by refusing to eat with them, even if I know their table barely holds enough to feed their family, much less an unexpected guest.” 

“You bring fish so when they offer dinner, you can provide enough food for yourself and for them.” Wade stated.

“Exactly that.” Another fish, another blessing into its cool skin. “What good is it to heal their bodies if their mind is worried about their next meal? Or to feed them without easing the strain in their soul? The humans see one doctor for their body, another for their mind when it breaks, another for their emotions when they can’t control it anymore, but healing is supposed to be all _one_ thing. Healing is all _one_ motion, we cannot protect one part of ourselves while leaving another vulnerable, and we cannot heal bodies without soothing minds.” 

Wade was quiet a moment, ruminating over the ideas. And then finally, “What is _electricity_?”

“Oh my god you’re so old.” Peter hooked another fish. “It’s a torch you never have to light and a lamp whose wick never burns out. Cooking food without fire and warming your home without extra blankets.”

“Why don’t you use it?”

“I used to, but I don’t anymore.” Peter admitted softly. “I’m young for a witch, but I’ve lived at least fifty years with the humans and their world changes so quickly I can’t keep up with it. I remember when they talked about flying towards the moon—“ Wade’s eyes shot skyward and the witch nodded, “— but then suddenly there was war and bloodshed and death that made me vomit. The stink of souls torn apart and the way they refused to help their own…how can they want the _stars_ in one moment and then squabble over imagined borders in the next?” 

Peter chewed at his bottom lip half irritated. “My Uncle says with great power comes great responsibility and that means I cannot ignore the cries of the needy but I _can_ choose to stay away from the cities and sky scrapers and all the technology that’s led to people being so callous of each other. Do you know now someone can see a doctor without _physically_ seeing them. Medicine comes in pills that poisons their organs while fixing a skin issue or flushes out their systems while giving them headaches. It’s not healing it’s… it’s covering one issue while bringing another. The pill to fix the headaches cause heart damage. It’s not _healing_.” 

The witch almost sounded angry now, tension vibrating down the fishing wire and disturbing ripples in the water. “The community in the cities perform their magic for audiences or even for their own gain, charging money for their services as if healers aren’t driven to serve. We aren’t meant to be wealthy for our gifts, we’re meant to give.”

And quieter, “I spent some time in one of the cities near the coast, but it was _stifling_. I felt as if I had to wear a mask, disguise my need to heal under other intentions, find sneaky ways to get close to people and help them without revealing what I was. It was stifling. _Suffocating_. I hurt all the time because I could never help enough and it broke my heart.” 

“So you left?”

“I left.” The witch confirmed. “And having to leave the city feels like a failure on my part. I wasn’t strong enough to save everyone and I should have stayed but-- but I’m happier here among the trees and the smaller villages and the lack of electricity.” He laughed but it didn’t wasn’t happy, it was almost _defeated. “_ Maybe I’m too innocent for life in the modern world still, or maybe I won’t ever be able to handle that sort of burden of healing. Either way, I think I’m better off here.”

Peter gestured around to the forest and down to the stream. “I feel _stronger_ here, like my healing does the most good. I can travel to the local villages and give them hope, provide food for their dinner table and go on my way without feeling like a burden or a— a failure.” 

Another bite at the line, another fish and Wade didn’t know what to say to so much sadness from the usually light hearted witch. His senses must truly be dulled from the centuries if he couldn’t tell when a smile was false or when a witch was hiding their true feelings. He’d thought Peter was transparent in his feelings and actions but now the familiar could suddenly see the stress lines around the healer’s eyes, the slight frown to full lips, and the collar pulsed at Wade’s throat when he instinctively tried to rouse his magic to offer _comfort_.

Wade curled his fingers in the collar until it cooled again, then cleared his throat and decided, “That’s too many fish, healer. You’ll feed a needy family and half the entire village at this rate, especially since you barely eat anything at all.”

“I eat plenty, but I suppose not compared to a dragon.” Peter made a visible effort to concentrate and smile, fingers glowing when he drew a quick sigil in the air to dispel the negative energy he’d broadcast across the water. “But you’re probably right, it’s enough fish. Let’s go find the village.” 

Witch and familiar set off again together, and when Wade continued walking in the sunshine next to Peter, the healer was quietly grateful for it. He knew drawing attention to Wade’s presence or even mentioning it enough to say ‘thank you’ would send the dragon retreating into the forest shadows, so he kept the feeling tucked away in his heart beneath the heavy key. Peter hadn’t expected to open up about how he hadn’t fit in to the modern world, he hadn’t _meant_ to open up about it at all. The balance of witch-familiar bonds were always tipped towards the one that _needed_ and Wade certainly _needed_ but sometimes--

\-- well some times Peter _needed_ too, and he’d felt the slip of magic from the familiar earlier, the barest tendril of warmth from a dragon so tampered by a collar even _that_ much had probably hurt him to give. 

But Wade had given it anyway in the moment Peter had _needed_ and it-- it felt nice. 

_Balanced_. 

The healer darted a sideways look at the dragon, eyeing the scales gleaming along the scars at Wade’s skin, the there and gone glimmer of tattoos that glistened silver beneath the moonlight, the push of fangs beneath the familiar’s top lip and the muscles that piled on thicker than they had any right to. He was so clearly a monster, so clearly a predator, the scent of centuries filtering through the aura of smoke and bonfire, the collar heavy on his neck ugly and coarse and doing nothing to detract from everything… _else_.

“You’re staring.” Wade was half a breath away from full on sprouting wings and flying away if the witch didn’t stop looking at him, collar and pain be _damned_. He wasn’t going to stand here and be stared at like he was--

“You’re beautiful.” 

_\-- I’m what?_

“I’m **what**?” 

“You’re beautiful.” Peter turned round on the path so he was walking backwards, able to see Edith over Wade’s shoulder to click the pony along faster, and _more_ importantly able to look his familiar in those ever shifting eyes and repeat, “You’re beautiful. Easily the most beautiful familiar I’ve ever met.” 

“I’m the _only_ familiar you’ve ever met.” Wade’s lip curled over a snarl so he wouldn’t rumble through an adoring purr. “Your point’s invalid.” 

“You’re the only familiar that matters.” the healer corrected with a smile that could have been an earthquake for all it shook Wade to his core. “Stay out of the shadows, my dragon. I much prefer you this way.” 

*****

Her name was Amalia and she was seven years old and _honest_ Mr. Doctor, she hurt her leg falling from a tree her brother _certainly_ hadn’t challenged her to climb after their parents had told them no. 

“I don’t have a brother to _certainly_ not challenge me to climb too high on trees.” Peter grinned at the little girl, then at the boy that was so clearly her twin, right down to the mischievous glint in his bright eyes and wildly untamed hair. “But if I did, I’d be _sure_ to tell him that it wasn’t his fault if I fell and hurt my leg, and I’d be sure and tell our parents--” 

A quick glance to the hovering couple and reassuring smile. “-- that little bones heal very well if set properly. And Amalia, I promise to set your leg _very_ properly.” 

“H-How?” Amalia had clearly been crying for a while, eyes wide and bottom lip poking out as she pouted. “How are you gonna fix it?” 

Peter leaned in close and whispered, “With magic!” and when the little girl giggled a little hysterically, the healer leaned back and winked at her parents to repeat louder, “No, I’m serious! It’s magic! Just watch!” 

It really _was_ magic, but Peter disguised the glow of his fingertips with quick motions, a thick poultice that was mostly aloe to avoid chafing and lavender because the scent would calm the child down, and lots of bandaging to wrap the leg stiff. The bone was healed before he tied off the last of the linen strips and set the splint to help her walk steady, and the blue and purple bruises beneath the wrapping were already faded thanks to murmured blessing towards Amalia’s heart to rush the blood along through her veins and ease the strain of magic on so young a soul. 

“You’ll have to be careful for a little bit.” He admonished her faux firmly, and Amalia nodded fast enough to make her braids whip around her ears. “No more trees, alright? At least not until the splint can come off.” 

“And _you_.” The witch turned to shoot a look towards the brother, who looked equally chagrined by his sister being hurt and halfway to jealous that she would be pampered until her leg was healed up. “The next time you encourage your sister to climb so high, be sure you’re ready to catch her. Yes?” 

“Yes Doctor.” he mumbled, but the trepidation in his bright eyes disappeared in a flash when Peter ruffled golden lit fingers through his hair and whispered a spell of _calm_ to dispel the misplaced guilt. 

Children were children, kids were kids. Accidents happened and the boy didn’t deserve to worry so much when the evening was still warm and there was still time to play. 

“Don’t.” Peter put his hand up and shook his head quickly when he saw the father reaching for money. “Please. It cost me nothing to stop and help Amalia and I don’t need the money for anything at all. Please keep it.” 

“You’ll join us for dinner, then.” the mother stepped forward next, her hands out stretched and near awed expression telling Peter that at least _this_ human knew he was a witch, _this_ one had seen the spark of his power and recognized the old magic for what it was. “I insist. We can’t send you on your way without a proper meal.” 

“I stopped to go fishing this afternoon.” Peter’s smile curved appreciative, kind. “I was going to cook a meal for myself and my companion but I’m sure there’s plenty for all of us. I'd be honored if you’d have me at your table.” 

“The honor is ours, healer.” The mother stooped to press a kiss to Amalia’s forehead. “Thank you for your help.” 

...Wade had stayed away when Peter went into the village to find who needed help. It had been a long time since he’d mingled with humans or anyone in the magic community but even back then, even centuries previous when his kind hadn’t been wiped out and familiars still swayed towards monstrous, even _then_ crowds had parted uneasily when Wade walked through their midst and the offer to share a place at the dinner table rarely extended to a dragon. 

When Peter had spied the village at the bottom of a small hill, Wade had immediately stepped away and blended back into the forest, allowing the witch’s scent time to clear of lingering brimstone and smoke so the children wouldn’t be afraid and the animals wouldn’t bark in warning when Peter drew near. 

It was better this way, with Wade hidden from prying eyes. 

He was _used_ to it this way, and once the dragon knew ~~his~~ the witch was safe within the village and on his way to cook the fresh trout alongside Amalia’s family, he turned and slipped deeper into the trees and back towards the freshwater pond they’d passed only an hour previous. 

He needed to bathe. 

_Not_ because the bratty witch had announced he smelled like an old man, but because Wade hadn’t given a single care to his mental or physical state for longer than he could remember and the _ick_ of it all was soaked into his pores. Depression hung like sulfur over his shoulders, loneliness like dirt clinging to his forearms. Misery and pain stank bitter in his nose and with the misery came memories dredged up from long buried places that stained like ink on his heart. 

Wade needed to bathe, needed to take the rough soap from Edith’s bags and the fresh change of clothes the Madame Witches had provided and he needed to strip down and wash and scrub and _clean_ until the freshwater rinsed all the ugly away and he was maybe a fraction as beautiful as Peter said he was. 

_I’m not beautiful_. 

The lye soap stung on his skin, caught on the slightly raised edges of his scales and burned where it ran into his eyes but Wade didn’t let up until the soap was worn down to nothing and patches of skin were aggravated _red_ at the rough treatment. He scrubbed under his nails and along the soles of his feet, up his legs and under his arms, yanked at the collar and forced suds beneath onto the tender skin where the heat burned too hot and would leave him with even _more_ scars. The iridescent markings at his sides grated like nails on glass when he rubbed at them, the raised tattoos that mapped out the shape of wings on his back twisted when the dragon dunked into the cold water and tried to rinse the soap off and when he finally left the water again, the cold evening wind wrapped around him and froze the familiar clear to his bones. 

It _hurt_ against already raw skin and Wade called his magic enough to warm himself, then cursed and stopped immediately when the collar’s curse _blistered_ at his throat. 

_Damn the coven. They should have just killed--_

\--the sound of laughter on the breeze, clear and happy and tinted honeysuckle warm. 

\-- _Pete_. 

Wade pulled the comfortable pants up around his hips but ignored the shirt. The soft material would only catch on his claws and scales and the _weight_ of it at his back made the dragon uneasy. He might not be able to shift anymore, but he hated the idea of anything covering his wings so the familiar left the shirt in the pack and followed the sound of laughter back down to the village. 

Roasted fish smelled _delicious_ wafting towards Wade’s nose along with the scent of smoke from a bonfire in the village center. He had scoffed at Peter catching so many fish but it was obvious from the still gathered crowd that the excess of food had been put to good use. There were plates a plenty, piled high with vegetables and something that looked like venison alongside the carefully cooked fillets and everywhere Wade looked were smiles, laughter and the aura of _contentment_ that always came with friends and community drawn together around a good meal. 

For a moment or two the familiar thought he might actually be _hungry_ , his mouth watering at the sight of everything prepared and dished up for anyone who asked. It had been so long since he wanted food and though the plates couldn’t possibly hold enough to satisfy the appetite of a beast his size, Wade was tempted to try it all anyway. The idea of eating a meal ~~his~~ the witch had prepared made his stomach clench in what might have been affection, might have even been _longing_. 

...the dragon hadn’t known the last time his first witch had made his favorite meal would in fact be the _last_ time. He’d bolted the food down and kissed her teasingly because it was always the same meal and he’d grown lazy and satisfied on it instead of appreciating the time and effort and the act of love she intended it to be. 

After the _last_ time, after the end, Wade had hysterically and hopelessly wished he would have slowed down and savored it all that night, wished he would have tumbled her to the bedrolls and thanked her properly for loving him so thoroughly, but after the _last_ time there had never been another chance and the dragon hadn’t been hungry since. 

But he was hungry _now_ , licking his lips and eyeing the feast the healer had helped create, wondering foolishly if the meat would tint like _honeysuckle_ on his tongue because of course Peter’s golden sweet influence would permeate even food. 

Wade was hungry _now_ , but then he caught sight of Peter perched on the back of Edith’s wagon with smile stretched wide and eyes glittering as he laughed and with a jolt as if he’d been socked right in the stomach, the familiar realized he wasn’t actually hungry for food. He was hungry for--

_No._

_I’m not ready for this._

_No._

The thought came a half breath too late as the initial surge of desire banked and slowed, thickened like tendrils that strung out across the distance and solidified into a stronger bond than it had been just a moment ago. Across the way, Peter put a hand to his chest and rubbed absentmindedly, twisted on the wagon and scanned the trees for Wade’s form. The dragon tried to duck away but the witch’s smile tempered into something _sweet_ and Wade was helpless to resist the slight tilt of Peter’s head as he motioned him in closer. 

_Come out of the shadows, Dragon._

Everyone-- even a human with no knowledge of magic-- was drawn to a healer, so it was no surprise Peter was surrounded by admirers of all genders and ages. The witches were always just beautiful enough to stand out in a crowd, their magic warm and welcoming and reflected in their eyes. They laughed easily and cared deeply and the physical comfort from even a brush of their fingers so easily translated to lust that most healers had a reputation as well experienced lovers. It was rare to find one in a long term relationship at all, much less a long term _monogamous_ relationship like Natasha shared with Pepper, like Wade had shared with his first witch, like the one he and Peter--

 _I’m not ready for this._

Oh but maybe the dragon _was_ ready, because when Peter’s tunic slipped down his shoulder again and someone reached to fix it, when well manicured hands clutched at the delicate fabric and brushed along Peter’s skin and giggled a clearly flirtatious, “Pete! At least keep your clothes on until the sun goes down!”, when _that_ happened Wade saw yellow and then white as his shift _surged_ , then smelled _burning_ as the collar activated to try and temper the anger. 

**Mine**. 

Wade pushed through the crowd as if they didn’t matter one whit, and truthfully they _didn’t_. All he could see was someone else touching his witch and calling him _Pete_ when that was Wade’s name, that name had been given to _Wade_ and no one else was going to--

“Oh, it’s just Peter! No one calls me Pete!” Wade snapped back to himself when he realized he’d only barely stopped before barreling the witch right over in a misguided and jealous attempt to separate Pete from the crowd. His ears cleared and he realized Peter was mid sentence rebuffing the nickname, his eyes cleared and he realized Peter was smiling up at him, and then as Peter turned back to the girl and kept talking, Wade _finally_ realized Peter’s hand was on his arm, idly tracing the lines of scales down to where they met his fingers. 

“It’s just Peter.” the witch said again with a little laugh. “Or Peter Benjamin if I’m in trouble, I suppose.” 

“Well then.” The woman wasn’t put off in the slightest by Wade’s sudden approach or the way Peter was holding onto him, only batted her eyes and purred, “ _Peter Benjamin_.” 

Peter was far too kind to rebuff her advances in any embarrassing way, so he only winked and joked to the crowd, “Yeah, that’s about as scary as when my Auntie May does it!” 

Still shaken by how quickly he had acted, by how intensely _blinding_ the rush of possessiveness had been, Wade stayed stock still at Peter’s side and didn’t so much as blink when the healer witch squeezed gently at his arm once, twice, then linked their fingers together and held tight. 

“That name is yours and yours alone.” Peter whispered beneath the crowd’s chatter, a near inaudible tone clearly meant for his dragon. “No one else calls me Pete. It’s just yours.” 

*******

Once it was obvious the gorgeous little brunette had no intention of entertaining _company_ for the night, most of the gathered townspeople began to disperse back to their own homes. Left overs from the meal were wrapped and given to the most needy among them, the fire safely banked so it wouldn’t burn through the night and Amalia’s mother came to find Peter one last time as the moon climbed the sky. 

“We have a room above our stables.” she told them, clutching at Peter’s hand and eying Wade curiously. “It’s not much, but it’s warm and dry and your mare can stay with our plow horses, they won’t mind her at all. Please. Please stay with us so I can make you breakfast in the morning before you go on your way.” 

“Thank you.” Peter hadn’t let go of Wade’s hand yet, but he touched his temple and then his heart in appreciation. “We’d be honored.” 

“We’d be honored to stay in her stable?” Wade asked under his breath as they followed the woman towards the small home, and Peter only wrinkled his nose over his shoulder towards the familiar. “Horses don’t like me.” 

“No, _prey_ doesn’t like you.” the healer hissed back teasingly. “And for at least the hundredth time, horses are not food!” 

Amalia’s mother ignored their quiet whisperings as she led them to the loft, then disappeared for a moment only to reappear with an arm full of blankets. Wade stepped aside so she could climb the ladder with Pete and set up a sleeping space while he-- slowly, carefully, working hard to keep himself and the ~~prey~~ horses calm-- led Edith to an empty stall and filled the trough with water, the bucket with some food. 

Only once the woman had bid them goodnight and left the stable did Wade climb the ladder up to join Peter in the loft, and his breath caught when he reached the small room and saw his witch inside.

It wasn’t _right_ for such a loft to look so wonderfully cozy with blankets piled against hay bales and fluffed high to act as pillows. Peter had already shed his boots and flexed bare toes in thick quilts, his hair hilariously askew and honeysuckle scent extra potent in such a small space and the smile across his perfect mouth when he saw Wade…

_...it was too much._

“I’ll sleep outside.” the dragon said hoarsely. “There isn’t much room here so--” 

“Stop.” Peter held his hand up and shook his head. “No. Stay with me. It doesn’t make any sense for you to not be here, we’re traveling together and everyone saw us tonight. They’d think it odd my bodyguard didn’t stay with me.” 

“Is that what you said I was?” _Damn it,_ Wade didn’t want to chuckle over the comment but Peter was trying so hard to look so terribly mischievous it was nearly impossible. “Your bodyguard?” 

“Should I have told them you are my Dragon familiar bondmate instead?” The witch challenged, and this time Wade’s chuckle was a little breathless. 

_Bondmate_. 

“That’s what I thought.” Peter either didn’t notice or simply ignored the dull flush on Wade’s face, and scooted over on the blankets, patting the spot next to him encouragingly. “I have to journal for at least half an hour so I don’t forget anything about today, but then we can sleep. And since you don’t smell like an old man anymore, you’re welcome sleep next to me. Come on.” 

“Journaling, huh?” Wade sat gingerly on the blankets, close enough to feel the warmth from the witch but not so close that they would even accidentally touch. “What are you writing about?”

“I was taught that all healers keep a journal.” Peter flipped through the scribbled over pages until he found a blank one. “This is how we pass our learning onto the next generation of healers. I’ll write about how we found the village and how many people live here, the blessing I used to heal Amalia’s leg, the poultice I wrapped around her bruises. The next person to have my journal will be able to find this place again if needed, they know there is at least a touch of magic present because Amalia’s mother recognized me as a witch and wasn’t afraid, which speaks to a positive influence of magic at some point in their past.” 

“Will you come back this way?” Wade settled a little deeper into the blankets and folded his arm, closed his eyes against the urge to scoop up Peter’s hand again. The bond between familiar and witch was _meant_ to be strengthened with touch and the _need_ pounded behind his temples like a drum beat. 

“ _We_ most likely won’t make it out this way again.” Peter corrected smoothly, and kept on writing. “I don’t think I’ve revisited a place in decades, not other than where my Auntie lives of course. Healers are meant to wander and soothe the people we find, not return again and again to revisit old hurts.” 

“Huh.” For the second or third time that day, Wade didn’t know what to say to that, he didn't know what to say _at all_. Not about his near spectacle in the town center, not about the way Peter had so casually touched him before whispering that only _Wade_ could call him Pete, not about how they were ensconced in such an intimate place close enough to hold each other should the night call for it. 

He didn’t know what to say so he stayed silent and listened to the _skritch_ of Peter’s pen in the notebook for several minutes. 

When Peter’s free hand landed casually at Wade’s knee, then slipped to link their fingers together while he wrote, the familiar nearly stopped breathing. 

_...was this what it meant to feel human again?_

He’d almost forgotten.

**********

**Chapter Notes:**

> _Look, I just-- I just love this chapter. SP is always excellent those first few times they find themselves unexpectedly opening up to each other and I will never get tired of writing all the ways Peter finds Wade beautiful and the way Wade reacts when he tells him. Just Top Tier Soulmates right there._
> 
> _So I feel like no one picked up on Peter’s horse being named Edith? That’s the AI Tony created that Peter was able to use in SM:FFH._
> 
> _Peter’s whole thing about not feeling like he was doing enough trying to save people in the big city felt very on brand for canon Spidey. Let the baby rest, he’s done so much!_
> 
> _The symbolism of Wade never being hungry again (or more likely, starving himself but being unwilling to eat) after his first witch made his favorite meal and it ended up being the last meal they ate together.... but then he’s hungry and willing to eat because Peter cooked it? My heart. Also, immediate blinding jealousy when someone dares to touch his witch? MY HEART._


	4. Chapter 4

The collar used to only activate when Wade tried to shift into dragon form. 

It was fire for fire, searing hot pain at his throat if he tried to open his mouth and breathe flame to warm the cold cave, scalding burns at his neck if his strength _surged_ and his shoulders _bulged_ and wings tried to break free to carry him far away from it all. 

The familiar puffed smoke and the collar singed, he cut claws against stone and the heavy weight burned to force him to _stop_. 

_Fire for fire, curse for curse._

Wade’s existence over most of the last several centuries had been a sort of stasis. Eventually the sting of the curse hadn’t been enough to stop him from at least partial shifting, from letting his eyes flicker yellow and white as his vision sharpened and changed against daylight, from letting his claws and fangs run long until he was just a notch less than _human_. The moonlight lit up the iridescent ink on his skin and the collar couldn’t stop that from happening at all, but eventually only the threat of wings caused enough pain for Wade to retreat and the stasis that followed was numb. Almost a relief. 

Fire for fire, curse for curse and Wade had resigned himself to living almost human and ignoring his magic and it had been fine. 

It had been _fine_. 

_Until Peter._

“My Dragon.” Peter’s smile was sunshine on an otherwise gloomy day, even on a beautiful day the healers optimism and sweet spirit would have outshone the stars and Wade _basked_ in it. “We should find a place to camp for the night before the rain breaks. Any ideas? Should we climb the mountain and find a cave?” 

“If you think I’m sleeping next to a wet horse and a wet witch, you’re wrong.” the dragon said flatly, knowing full well Peter would laugh at even the slightest bit of teasing. “I can imagine a hundred room-mates that would be better than soggy…” he made a gesture towards Peter and Edith. “... _that_.”

“Says the wildly cranky old man to the _actual_ ray of sunshine and the trusty pony who carries our things without complaining.” Peter plucked a wild daisy as they passed and tossed it towards the familiar. “Maybe we don’t want to sleep next to a stinky, soggy dragon.” 

“You definitely want to sleep next to me.” Wade batted the flower away, the quick retort happening before he’d registered the words or the implications. “Even if I stank and was--” 

His breath caught up _strangled_ when the witch closed the distance between them and was immediately in his space, lightly calloused fingers stroking gentle _gentle_ down the side of the dragon’s cheek and rubbing purposefully along the line of scales that split Wade’s face and hooked the corner of his lip. 

“--w--witch?” 

“You don’t stink, Dragon.” Gold ringed bright in Peter’s eyes as he studied Wade up close. “And I’d let you sleep at my side even if you were soggy. You wouldn’t even have to ask permission. You’re my familiar, it’s your right. All witches and familiars sleep side by side once their bond strengthens.” 

“Of course--” the healer’s nose scrunched in unmistakable mischief. “-- I only want you to sleep close because the nights are still cold and you give off heat like a furnace. And I don’t have to worry about getting eaten by any of the other predators in the forest. You’re big and growly enough that everything else-- everything besides _Edith_ \-- is just prey.” 

“Still so sure that your horse isn’t a snack, huh?” Wade didn’t remember the last time he’d tried to be snarky, but he _wholly_ remembered the last time someone had touched him so carefully, had cupped his cheek and smoothed their thumb over his bottom lip and smiled up into his eyes without a trace of fear. 

_Vanessa_. 

“Healer--” 

“My name is Pete.” the witch’s eyes half lidded in near pleasure when the dragon turned into his palm and nosed at the sensitive skin. “And it’s just yours. Say it. _Pete_.” 

Peter’s magic was like a physical touch at Wade’s psyche as it probed the jagged edges of his pain and lay thick like honey on the still open mental wounds, settled like a blanket over the emotional anguish that spilled black into the dragon’s soul. 

“You hurt so much.” he murmured and Wade’s hazel gaze flared _yellow_ before shuttering closed. “Let me help you.” 

“Pain’s the only way I know I’m still alive.” Wade stretched his power to reach Peter, wound it red around the white of healing in his mind and stained it all scarlet. “Don’t take that away from me.” 

The collar round his neck _charged_ between them, crackled with the intensity of its curse as it activated in response to the shift of Wade’s beast forward into magic, and Peter cursed in surprise when it scalded his wrist with heat. 

“Ow!” the healer jerked back and wrapped his other hand over the burn, golden glowing as he called his magic and healed the skin in an instant. “Are you alright?” 

“Are you alright?” Wade barely noticed the sting of the collar but still pulled away from Peter’s pain, from the reminder that his curse would spill over _ugly_ into whatever bond he and the witch managed to forge. 

“I’m fine.” Peter shook off the there and gone pain, and frowned. “That _hurt_ , Wade. Didn’t it hurt you? Is it always that painful when you use your magic?” 

“It didn’t used to be.” Wade retreated and Peter _hated_ it how the familiar pulled away until he was nearly in the shadows again. “Used to only burn when I tried to shift, then it started burning anytime I used my magic. I didn’t mean for it to hurt you, I was trying to-- trying to--” 

Despair and a healthy dose of self loathing tinted his vision dark. Wade had been trying to connect with his witch and instead he’d only hurt Peter and that particular facet of his curse was so cruel the dragon could scarcely stomach it. 

He was already running out of time for this bond, this useless attempt at saving him. Summer solstice was the deadline Natasha had given him. Matched with the witch by summer solstice or forced to the shift and slaughtered. 

But a match meant magic, and magic meant _pain_ and Wade would sooner die than he would subject his healer to the same trauma he lived with every day. 

“Wade?” Peter asked softly, quietly, one hand outstretched. “Come from the shadows, Dragon. Come back to me.” 

_I can’t._

_I won’t._

“We need to find camp.” Wade ground out from behind his fangs. “Before you and Edith get soggy. Keep going, healer. Before the rain comes.” 

******

That night was the first of many spring storms, nightly deluges that forced the witch and familiar to huddle beneath heavy foliage and in damp caves to wait out the worst of it. The wagon was left off the path one day when pulling it through the mud became too much for Edith, the location carefully marked in Peter’s journal, and from there they continued only with what she could handle on her back and what Wade and Peter could carry together. 

Wade was almost impossibly strong, easily able to carry his own supplies, all of Peter’s supplies and everything Edith lugged along too but the second he shouldered enough to cause the collar to light _red_ as he tapped into his dragon strength, Peter darted forward and snatched something away. 

“Witch--” 

“You don’t have to accept my help yet.” The healer said clearly, firmly, “But I am _not_ going to stand here and watch you hurt yourself more. I won’t do it. You can’t make me. And furthermore, I might be a healer but that doesn’t mean I won’t zap your ass to get you to settle down. Watch it.” 

“Stubborn brat.” Wade’s half smile was almost fond, and it grew wider when Peter muttered, “Cranky old man.” 

It rained, drizzled during the day and down poured during the night. The rare patches of sunlight brought a hundred shades of green to the forest, a thousand different flowers opening to bloom every single morning, the rivulets they splashed through turning to creeks they jumped, the creeks swelling to rivers, the rivers rushing dangerous and overflowing the banks, tearing down rickety bridges and forcing the pair to find other means of crossing. 

“I’ll carry you.” Wade scooped Peter up and strode right through the river, ignoring Peter’s gasp when his collar lit _red_ with the strength it took to force his way into the currents. “I’ll get Edith too.” 

“Wade, no--!” Peter stood on the other bank and _screeched_ at his familiar to not carry the horse, to not strain his magic in that way, to please _please_ stop because it would hurt him and the smell of burning would panic Edith-- 

“Not gonna carry the horse. Sheesh.” Wade summoned the most baleful look he could manage at the near hysterical healer, then wrapped Edith’s reins through his hand and coaxed the horse into the river. With his more than steady presence at her side, Edith only huffed anxiously at the water but crossed with quick steps and a grateful whinny when they made it out the side. “Give me a little credit, hm?” 

“I will give you exactly nothing except a neutral face of complete exasperation.” the witch pursed his lips and the dragon had to swallow the instinctive urge to bend down and kiss the frown away. Their bond was strengthening despite the distance, despite his own _stubbornness_ , bolstered by Peter’s unshakeable spirit and endless kindness and the urge to be near was growing stronger every day. 

“There’s nothing neutral about your expression, witch.” Wade released Edith’s reins and pulled back from the instinct to gather the healer back close again. A few moments in his arms as they crossed the river had only made the dragon _heat_ and he refused to burn Peter again. 

_Not again._

The next round of rain came along with a twist in Peter’s heart, a too sharp pain that made him gasp and stumble as they walked. 

“Witch?” 

“Someone needs me.” Peter closed his eyes and inhaled deep, coughed through another clench and inhaled again. “ _Oh_ that was a lot right away, but it’s better now. It must have been an accident, the wounds that happen on purpose usually hurt a lot worse than that.” 

“You can tell that sort of thing?” Wade kept his distance, but watched his witch carefully. “Whether something was done by accident or on purpose? Do you feel…” he hesitated. “...do you feel the action in progress or does the impulse to heal only come along after? Can you tell if the person on the other end is still alive or not?” 

“Are you asking if I can feel when people are dying?” Peter was quick to shake his head, eyes widening in horror. “Oh gods, no. _No_. I can only feel when someone needs healed in an easy way, when they can definitely be saved. Injured limbs, sometimes internal bleeding. A broken heart or unsteady mind after trauma. It has to be something I can fix with a touch and a spell and then move on. For the more serious issues, the person has to seek me out because it could take days to heal them, it could take weeks if the issue is bad enough. A witch’s healing is always faster than modern medicine, even with the way they do surgery now, but it still takes effort and the amount of pain those people would be in--” 

He shook his head again. “--if I felt every time cancer appeared in a body, every time someone was killed or simply died of old age, I wouldn’t survive. It would hurt too much. There would be no healer witches left at all. We would either disappear altogether like the Oracle covens did the early centuries, or we would hide our empathy and learn other skills to avoid death as a result of our magic.” 

Peter smiled only slightly, “A familiar’s magic precludes them from dying by their own hand or as a result of their own magic. A witch’s power does no such thing.” 

The dragon waited patiently while Peter trekked towards the nearest rain-swollen river and set up his fishing line and lure, waited until the first of several fish had been caught before he stated, “Even if every person’s pain hurt you, you would still be a healer.” 

“Yes.” Peter hooked another fat trout and smoothed gentle fingers over it's scales. “Of course. This is what I _do_ , Dragon. The world needs healers and I need to heal. When you can do the sort of thing I can do, and choose not to, then bad things happen. Then I’d be guilty.” 

_Guilty_. The sounds of an entire city’s worth of screams filled the dragon’s ears, memories of rage drowning in gore, grief made physical with broken bones and torn out throats and the slick of blood on his teeth. 

Peter could live lifetimes and never be a fraction as guilty as Wade was. 

As Wade _should_ be. 

As the coven _wished_ he would feel. 

But Wade didn’t need to feel guilty, neither did he need forgiveness. He didn’t care about redemption and was long past absolving what his rage had turned to sins. These days the dragon only wanted to watch his witch smile, only wanted to sit alongside a fire he could no longer summon and keep his witch warm, only wanted to breathe in the scent of honeysuckle and wonder at how it blended so well with his own scent of _smoke_. 

“I have enough.” Peter spoke up and jarred Wade from his memories. “Let’s go and find who needs our help.” 

“ _Our_ help?” Wade automatically took the fish from Peter, hooked them onto a single line and stowed them in a sack from Edith’s saddle bags. “What help am I supposed to be in your healing?” 

“The muscles, of course.” Peter winked and bent to wash his hands, baring a strip of skin low on his back that was nearly fatal in its temptation to the dragon. “And as the world changes and the humans move forward with certain types of thinking, I’ve learned that some people don’t take me… seriously… once they see me. Your presence will help with that.”

“Why wouldn’t they take you seriously?” Wade’s vision sharpened when Peter stood, unconsciously tracing the line of lean muscles in the witch’s thigh, the way the healer’s hands were slim but so strong. “You reek of magic, and even humans recognize power when they see it.” 

“Would super prefer if you don’t use words like _reek_ to describe me.” Peter grinned over his shoulder. “But thanks for that. And you’re right, humans do recognize power when they see it. Unfortunately, humans _don’t_ want to see power in someone that looks like me.” 

Wade waited for the inevitable explanation, and Peter took a moment to wipe his hands before finishing, “I know I’m pretty, Wade. All healer’s are beautiful but I’ve come to realize that my being _male_ and pretty causes issues. No one wants to take direction from someone they are attracted to, especially when it's--” 

He made a gesture over his frame. “--big eyes and perpetual bed head, small enough to look forever young but strong enough to hold my own. At best, people think I’m some smart ass teenager who couldn’t possibly have a clue about the world, at worst they assume I’m some doe eyed idiot playing at real life. They feel magic around me but think it's seduction, I heal them and they think I’m flirting because they think soothing and comfort are only precursors to sex.”

Peter rummaged around in the packs for a piece of apple to give Edith before coaxing the horse to get a move on down the path towards whatever was calling him forward. “Humans have forgotten how to give comfort simply for comfort’s sake, and when they assume everyone _wants_ something, looking like I do isn’t always a blessing.” 

“They see someone pretty and think you are only good for one thing.” the dragon clarified, and Peter motioned towards the familiar and clarified a statement of his own-- “They see someone powerful and assume along the same lines.” 

“...What do you assume when you see me, witch?” 

“That if the coven hadn’t clipped your wings with that collar, you’d be gone in the next breath.” the witch looked towards the mountain tops and further towards the sun. “That there’s nothing tethering you to this Earth or even this existence besides what has been forced on you.” 

Peter and Edith were well on their way down the path before Wade moved to follow them, the dragon whispering quiet words no one was ever meant to hear--

“You’re wrong, little witch. I’d stay tethered to you if I didn’t think it’d cost you your soul.” 

**********

The urge to _heal_ led Peter north by northeast for close to two hours before the person that needed him ran right into their path. 

Or rather, right _above_ their path as it were. 

“Wade--!” Peter felt the presence of the child only a split second before the dragon did, his empathy honed down to the heartbeat between the little soul running and the little soul _leaping_. “Get her!” 

“I’ve got her.” Wade moved faster than was humanly possible, faster than was practically _magically_ possibly thanks to his age and the sheer amount of power held within his bones. One second the child was flying, the next she was _screaming_ as she began to fall and then Wade caught her, absorbed her slight weight as if she were nothing more than a feather and cradled her into his chest protectively. “Hey hey hey little love, little love, I’ve got you. Settle.” 

Peter’s hands were already lit golden ready to find and repair broken bones, to dry tears, to perhaps erase the memory of the fall in case she would have nightmares, but he stopped mid step when he saw _first_ , that Wade was being so very gentle with the child and _second_ , that the girl wasn’t crying or panicking or even breathing hard. 

Instead she was staring up at Wade with hazel eyes that blinked yellow and then white, and a little smile that bared only the hint of fangs.

.... _Dragon_. 

“Look at you, beauty.” Wade’s grip tightened when he saw the fangs, his voice little more than a rumble as the child snarled in frustration at having her attempt at flying foiled. “What’s the matter, don’t have your wings yet?” 

“Pretty sure if I jump high enough they’ll _have_ to show up.” she scowled and the massive familiar choked out a laugh that was nearly a sob. _She was a dragon._ “What about you, where’s your wings?” 

“...Wade?” Peter whispered. “Do you know this child?” 

“No.” Wade lifted up the back of the girls shirt only enough to show Peter a dark scroll of ink on her side that clearly was the start of a wing tattoo. “But I see her as if she’s my own anyway. My magic knows her.” He peered closer into her eyes and let his own shade yellow, _white_ , ignoring the burst of heat from his collar to let his magic linger with her barely presented power. “You hear that, honey? I _see_ you. I see _you_ and know what you are.”

“I see you too.” She couldn’t have been more than eleven, perhaps even younger with how slight her frame was, how wide her hazel eyes were in an otherwise pixie-ish face. “I see you and I see your witch but no one ever sees _me_.” 

“We do.” Peter advanced slowly, one step at a time, a quick motion at his temple and then his heart that he knew the girl most likely wouldn’t understand. “Little love, we see you. Can you tell us your name?” 

“Not s’posed to give a witch my name.” she answered pertly, and if Wade hadn’t been so stunned to be holding another dragon in his arms, he might have growled in approval at her instincts. 

“You’re absolutely right about that.” The healer nodded quickly, almost relieved to know she was aware of at least that much. “But I’m not asking you to give me your name, just to _tell_ it to me. My name is Peter. My familiar’s name is Wade. What’s your name?” 

“Dragons should have cooler names than Wade.” she said instead, wrinkling her nose up in disdain. “Like Fangbreath. Or Storm Ravage. Or-- Or something with _The Great_ at the end of it.” 

_Oh_ she was lovely, quick witted and fierce and hilarious and Wade’s chest ached with the instant familiarity of her scent, the sweet smell of heavy fog and smoldering cedar from the mountain ridges where the dragons used to perch. 

“If you won’t tell us your name, I’ll have to make something up.” Peter teased her softly. “Perhaps about the shade of your hair or the way we found you flying through the tree tops? Would you like to be called Butterfly? Monarch, maybe?” 

“I am not a butterfly!” she sputtered, thoroughly incensed at having been compared to something so fragile. “I’m a dragon! Eleanor Carmelita Camacho _The Great!”_

And then with a fairly adorable wrinkle to her nose, “Butttttt you can call me Ellie. Everybody else does.” 

“Ellie.” Peter motioned for Wade to put her down, and smiled encouragingly at his familiar when Wade hesitated. The urge to keep family close-- not quite family but a dragon _child_ when Wade thought he was the last one on Earth-- he _needed_ to keep her close, and Peter squeezed at Wade’s fingers comfortingly while reaching for Ellie’s hands. “I’m a healer witch, honey. We came this way because my heart told me someone was hurt. Are you hurt? Is anyone you know injured?” 

“I hurt sometimes.” Ellie stared down at his palms in fascination, tracing the golden glow curiously. “Some days it’s my skin, it's all itchy like I’m trying to be too big for it and I don’t know how to fix that. Some days my legs hurt too so I run really far and sometimes when I run, I pretend I can fly.”

“You’re not old enough to fly, baby.” Wade’s voice was hoarse, softer than Peter had ever heard it, comforting and consolatory and _understanding_ in a way that tempered the usual rough edges of his tone. “Not yet. I didn’t fly till I was close to a hundred.” 

“I will be _dead_ before I’m a hundred.” she announced with an expression that proved she thought the other dragon was perfectly, ridiculously stupid. “Can’t fly when I’m in an old folks home, can I?” 

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about ever being in an old folks home.” Peter was utterly charmed by the little girl and utterly _smitten_ by his dragon being so suddenly gentle. “Ellie, where’s your family? Are you out here running by yourself?” 

“No one else in my group can fly.” Ellie stated, slanting another one of those _looks_ that could only mean she was less than impressed with her current companions line of thinking. “So why would I bring them with me? Duh.” 

“Yeah, healer.” Wade grinned down at the witch. “Why would she bring someone who couldn’t fly with her? _Duh_.” 

Ellie giggled and Wade laughed just a little bit, and Peter thought he would burst with happiness over the small moment. 

“I think we should find your group because I’m sure they’re worried.” he decided with a cheerful clap of his hands, the ache in his heart easing the longer Ellie smiled. It had been _her_ pain that had drawn him this way, her frustration with a shift no one understood anymore, with a responsibility and power her mind couldn’t handle without guidance. It had been the cry of another magic soul reaching out for help and Peter had never been so glad to be there to answer the call. 

“Come on, sweetheart.” Wade held his hand out and Ellie took it promptly, magic recognizing magic as the ancient familiar and the still new familiar made their way back down the path. 

“Do I _really_ have to wait until I’m a hundred to fly?” 

“Your wings have to be strong enough to carry you.” 

“But I am very small, I don’t need big wings.” 

“But you’ll soar so far on the wind, you’ll want them all the same.” 

Wade was smiling, easier than he’d ever smiled at Peter, unconscious of the ravages of his skin because Ellie either didn’t notice or didn’t care, wholly lost in the presence of someone like him. The familiar’s spirit lifted with the knowing that he wasn’t the last, his resolve to live strengthened because this little dragon could be part of his purpose. 

Bonding with Peter would destroy the witch’s spirit and since Wade couldn’t live with that, he’d have to live _without_ the blessing of a true, full match with his healer. But a little time spent with Ellie teaching her a few dragon things, a few days when he could teach her how to pull her fangs in and how to settle the urge to leap off every tall thing to see if she would soar would be good for them both. He’d have to teach her how to quell the need to bite, how to ignore the way her throat would click hungry for blood, leave her notes and tips on how to begin hunting in ways that hurt no one and didn’t disrupt nature’s balance around her. 

She would need a teacher and Wade could do that, he could help her along the way like another dragon had helped him so long ago and perhaps _this_ would be some of the redemption the Madame’s wanted him to find. 

Wade was smiling, and Peter let himself stare because his dragon was _beautiful_ and no amount of collars or curses would ever change that. 

“I don’t want that.” Ellie slapped a flower out of Wade’s hand, her offended little noise bringing Peter back to the moment. “I don’t need daffodils. Who needs daffodils? I want wings!” 

“Trust me, little one.” The nurturing came so easy to the dragon now, helping a baby dragon second nature to his kind even if he’d never experienced the instinct before, and Wade bent to patiently pick another daffodil and tuck into her wild hair. “You’ll appreciate the flowers one day.”

“Pretty sure I’ll never appreciate flowers as much as I’ll appreciate breathing fire!”

“Alright _that’s_ not happening anytime soon.”

*********

Ellie’s _group_ as she called it was a traveling company of musicians and thespians, and though they cheered when she was escorted back to camp it was painfully obvious no one had even noticed the child missing. Ellie was only one of almost a dozen that were running around the horses and tossing sticks at the big bonfire and chasing each other through various tents and her absence hadn’t been noted yet. 

Wade thought the gathering looked like one of the old travelers fairs that used to come to the villages. There had been beautiful women who danced for coins, men selling honest goods and children picking pockets. The thick smell of roasting meat had hung heavy in the air, the noise of the horses mixing with the crackle of massive bonfires in the middle of their camps, the atmosphere fun and easy, the night stars the backdrop for the sort of moments that only happened when spiced liquor was shared and time grew blurry. 

This camp wasn’t a fair of course, the people were clearly only stopping here over night on their way to someplace else but the similarities still made Wade’s heart ache. Beyond Peter's jokes about him being an old man, most days Wade didn’t think too much about the centuries that separated him from his previous life. It had been a blur anyway, both equally achingly precise down to each second he was alone and in pain as it was numb and almost inconsequential because he had no gauge to tell how much time was passing. Most days he didn’t think about it, but coming upon a travelers fair that wasn’t a travelers fair at all, coming upon a moment that seemed familiar but simply _wasn’t_ by virtue of nearly a millennia— it stunned Wade back to his usual near speechlessness, shuttered his expression and twisted his lip into a ready, defensive snarl.

“No no, my Dragon.” 

Ellie had let go of Wade’s band and danced off to play with the other children now that the itch of _shift_ beneath her skin had temporarily settled and Peter was quick to take her place at Wades side, winding their fingers together and pressing at the familiar’s rough palm. 

“Don’t retreat from me.” The healer whispered. “Stay with me, stay with me. What are you thinking?

“I’m realizing how old I am.” The dragon muttered. “Just… all the sudden.”

“Yes, Wade, you’re practically decaying to death as we speak but I _also_ can feel you mentally pulling away from me, so stop it. Away from the shadows, Dragon. Stay with me.”

“I thought I was the last dragon.”

“I know.”

“It’s like finding family.”

“I—“ Peter's breath caught over a bolt of longing, maybe sadness that Wade didn’t consider their strengthening bond akin to _family_. “I know. Ellie is practically a miracle. I haven’t heard of a dragon familiar being born in centuries and I haven’t detected any other magic in this camp, so she’s even _more_ a miracle, then. A dragon shifter born to ordinary parents is unheard of. I’ll have to stain her blood into my journal so we can keep track of her.” 

Wade cocked a curious eyebrow in question, and Peter explained, “Sharing blood with a healer allows them to track you throughout your life. Ellie will need guidance as she grows older and even though we can’t stay here with her, having her blood on the pages of my journal means if she ever needs us, I’ll hear her in my soul. We can find her again and help, even if it’s years and decades into the future.” 

“Huh.” Wade hadn’t known _that_ , and a piece of him wondered if Vanessa had kept his blood somewhere in one of her journals, if her departed soul had heard his screams of loneliness and grief after she’d gone. “Decades, though?” 

“It’ll be at least fifty years before she is able to shift into dragon form, another fifty before she can fly, right?” Peter misinterpreted the question, too busy watching Ellie play. “It could be close to a century before she needs our help, I want to be sure we hear her call when she does.” 

“No I mean--” Wade hesitated, then closed his fingers tighter around Peter’s, scraped his claws just featherlight over the back of the witch’s hand. “You and I will be together in years? Decades?” 

“You lived a thousand years, Dragon, don’t go dying on me now.” Peter was being sassy, but his smile was sincere as he tucked himself closer to Wade’s side. “What’s a few decades in the span of a millennium?” 

“Nothing at all.” Wade’s collar seared as he tried and failed to smother the instinctive response to Peter’s presence at the edge of his psyche, the familiar’s long buried magic surging forward to mingle with his witch and lash their souls together with yet another strand, another twist in their bond. 

_And nowhere close to enough time._

The invitation to stay the night with the group came by way of an Earth witch with a level of magic so low Peter had missed it altogether and in fact didn’t register it at all until the young man touched his heart in a brief greeting and smiled self consciously, “Uh hey. I’m Joshua, I’m Ellie’s Uncle. I hear you saved her.” 

“Caught her mid air, sure.” Peter made a matching motion over his heart. “I'm Peter, that’s my familiar Wade there by the wagon.” 

“Right, I saw him when I came in.” Josh cleared his throat and flushed a little when he caught Peter’s eyes. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen a healer. I forgot how overwhelming you can be up close. Real pretty and real… intense. Wow.” 

“You’ll get used to it.” Peter waved off the compliment, then cocked his head and inhaled curiously, tasting the scent of the Earth Goddess in only the faintest tendrils in the air. “You’re an Earth witch? How come I couldn’t sense you before now?” 

“I don’t ah-- practice.” Joshua looked no more than twenty five or twenty six, _honestly_ no more than twenty five or twenty six, not the way Peter looked barely twenty but was actually well into his fifties. This witch didn’t possess enough latent power to control his physical aging and that was… well, Peter had never even _heard_ of such a thing. “I don’t practice and my parents weren’t magic, just me and my sis and she’s gone now so--” 

He cleared his throat and motioned backwards to Ellie. “Sis passed away and the state gave me Ellie. Don’t know why they thought the wildly unattached bachelor Uncle would make a good guardian for her but here we are, I guess.” 

“You’re a witch without roots.” Peter’s expression cleared in understanding. “Several generations worth? You must have a great grandparent somewhere that is a full witch. Did your coven disband?” 

“They uh--” the man was so affected by the healer’s good looks and presence it was almost embarrassing, his cheeks flushed and eyes darting towards and then away from Peter’s lithe frame and mouth. “They married with humans real early and it all just sort of faded away.” 

“Interesting.” Wade was at the edge of the camp setting up bedrolls and securing Edith for the night and the healer knew Joshua _never_ would have approached him had the dragon been close. “Well, my familiar Wade caught Ellie attempting to fly through the trees earlier this afternoon, but she wasn’t hurt at all. She’s really a delightful child.” 

“She’s a handful.” With a grimace that explained just how inconvenienced his life had been by the sudden addition of a full time niece, Josh sighed. “Didn’t know she was magic till after Carmelita passed and it turns out she’s _way_ more magic than me and Sis ever were. I can’t barely make flowers grow and Carmelita couldn’t do much more than call a breeze, but Ellie is a-- she’s a--” 

He rubbed at his neck, shot an uncomfortable look over towards Wade. “I mean, she’s one of those things, right? An animal? She’s got fangs and everything.” 

“A _dragon_.” Peter’s eyes narrowed in a flare of protectiveness towards his familiar. “Yes, Ellie is a dragon like my familiar is a dragon. You should be very proud of her by the way, dragon familiars haven’t been born for centuries. She must be destined for great things.”

“Proud of her.” Joshua repeated blankly. “She told me a few weeks ago that her skin itches like her wings are trying to break free, and last night for dinner she wanted to eat the rabbit bloody and raw. That’s not-- she isn’t--” 

“You should be _supportive_ of her, then.” the healer emphasized. “I’m sure you don’t feel prepared to deal with a young familiar, especially a dragon, but trust me, she’s even less prepared to deal with it herself.” 

“Right, right.” Guilt, creasing Josh’s features. “I just-- when she said you had a dragon I was so relieved, I thought maybe their kind took care of each other and you two would maybe--” 

“It’s up to you as her _family_ to take care of her.” Peter cut the train of thought off immediately. “Myself and my familiar are not equipped to take her on right now, and even if we were, what do you think it would do for Ellie’s mental state to lose her mom and then her Uncle so quickly?” 

“I wouldn’t be dead.” Joshua kicked at the dirt a little. “Just-- she’d just be with someone better able to handle it all than me. Carmelita taught her a little bit about what it means to be magic and I got my hands on a few old books for Ellie to read but I don’t know anything else. Don’t even know where to begin.”

“You would be better equipped if you had consistently practiced your magic.” Peter pulled his journal from his pack and lifted a silver edged business card from the pages. “But in the mean time, you should contact the Madame Witches at _Magic and Magnolias_. Natasha is a healer like I am and Pepper is a wind witch, both would be good influences for Ellie and for you.” 

“The Madame Witches.” Josh repeated, sounding a little awed. “I used to-- my granny used to talk about them. They’re real?” 

“Very much so.” Peter’s mouth tipped in a smile thinking about how offended the fearsome redheads would be if they knew someone magic didn’t believe they were real. “And don’t let the weird knick knacks in their store fool you, they’re called _Madame_ Witches for a reason.” 

“Thanks for this.” He put the card in his wallet. “And thanks for saving Ellie. I wish I understood her better but I just _don’t_.” 

“Well that one--” Peter pointed towards Wade, felt a pull in his chest at their bond when the dragon looked up and smiled. “-- _that_ one certainly understands Ellie just fine, and though we aren’t staying long this time around, we’ll be in touch in the future.” 

“You should at least stay the night.” Joshua was quick to offer. “Most of the guys will be practicing their songs so there will be music, we’ll cook over the fire and we’ve got alcohol! You could stay and dance a while, eat and drink with us?” 

“A night of dancing and drinking sounds wonderful.” Peter grinned in delight at the invitation. “Thank you!” 

“Aw hell.” The Earth witch blushed to the tips of his hair when the full force of Peter’s smile about knocked him on his ass. “Man, you healer witches are something else. I feel like I’m two seconds from falling in love, how does that dragon keep his hands off you?” 

“He _doesn’t_.” Wade appeared from honestly no where, using that dragon speed to remove himself from Edith’s side and deposit himself right into Peter’s space when he caught sight of Joshua’s blush and the unfortunate scent of arousal in the air. 

_Unfortunate_ only because it wasn’t Peter scenting like that, _unfortunate_ because the last time someone had touched Peter Wade had seen the world in a frightening shade of red for a few deadly seconds before Peter had calmed him down and this moment was rapidly shaping up to be a repeat. 

“He _doesn’t_ keep his hands off the healer.” he repeated in a low growl, big hand splayed across Peter’s stomach and dragging the witch back into his frame. “But _you_ should.”

Josh _eep_!ed a little bit and if Peter hadn’t been so thrilled at the show of protectiveness from his familiar, he would have elbowed Wade right in the gut for being so rude.

As it was, he was practically melting back against Wade’s chest, winding his fingers between the dragon’s hand at his stomach and squeezing lightly so Wade knew not to move. The shock of sustained physical contact poured into their connection like lava, molten and syrupy thick and Wade’s initial growl of annoyance over Joshua trying to flirt turned into a rumble of sheer _contentment_ as he buried his nose in Peter’s hair and inhaled the scent of honeysuckle and his witch. 

“We’ve been invited to stay and drink and dance tonight.” Peter tipped his head back to meet his dragon’s gaze. “Sound good?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

**********

The night spent with the traveling group was fun. The music was loud and varied, instruments spread out around the campsite being tuned and then played, the musicians themselves all too eager to share their knowledge and skills with Peter as the healer moved from one instrument to the next and exclaimed over every detail. 

The dancers ranged from clearly professionally trained to the children simply stomping and clapping slightly off beat to the music, the makeshift dance floor created from swept dirt and framed by heavy rocks. Peter danced to a few songs, spinning between partners and equally happy to dance with the clamoring children as he was the flirty and interested adults. 

Wade didn’t dance of course, but he stood off the side with Ellie and explained in quiet tones why the iridescent ink on his skin seemed to throb along with the beat, how music was more ancient than anyone realized and how it spoke to familiars more than to witches since their magic was closely tuned to the very _heart beat_ of Earth Goddess, how if Ellie listened very closely, they could her Her speaking between the notes. 

“The Earth Goddess?” Ellie asked suspiciously. “In the music?” 

“Listen.” Wade instructed the little dragon. “Close your eyes and _listen_.” 

Ellie scrunched her nose up, squeezed her eyes shut and made a show of listening. While she was concentrating, Wade found his witch among the dancers and watched with open adoration as Peter laughed out loud at another child’s antics, as the healer slipped through someone else’s grasp and kept a little distance because he was _Wade’s_ and no one else held the right to touch him. 

_No one._

The food was good and plenty, Peter’s offering of fish only a small percent of the feast the group spread along fold out tables and over blankets. Wade didn’t eat but he made sure Ellie got a plateful and grinned in understanding when she all but inhaled every piece of _meat_ available and then glanced longingly back at the table for more than what would be considered her fair share. 

“I’ll get you more.” he promised her, and Peter’s eyed widened in confusion when he saw Wade piling his plate high, then softened in understanding when the dragon handed over the plate to Ellie. 

_Who knew so ancient a beast could be so tender?_

Joshua brought his bedroll over towards Wade and Peter, though he was sure to set it up next to Ellie on the _other_ side of Wade. He might be overwhelmed by having to take care of his niece, but that didn’t mean he’d let her sleep alongside strangers all night either. 

“You’re welcome to sleep by us.” Peter said warmly, and bit the inside of his cheek till it bled trying not to laugh when Wade noisily and rather _huffily_ moved their bedrolls a little further away from Josh and Ellie. _Possessive dragon._

The liquor was strong, sweetened enough to make it easy to drink and served warm from the fire as the stars came out and rain chilled wind came down from the hills. 

Wade snatched a cup from Ellie when she tried to steal some of the drink, then narrowed yellow eyes at her pout and dropped maybe the tiniest amount into her juice before growling a warning of, “No more, Ellie. When you get your wings, then you’ll be old enough to drink.” 

“You said I won’t get wings until I’m a hundred!” 

“I said what I said.” 

They fell asleep to guitar music, one of the singers crooning out soft melodies from around the fading fire. Ellie passed out mid sentence, one minute talking a hundred miles an hour, the next face down and snoring and Joshua laughed under his breath as he moved to get her properly situated and covered with a blanket. 

“Thank you for today.” he told Wade quietly. “This is the most settled I’ve ever seen Ellie. She was actually happy talking with you, and that means a lot. I hardly ever see her smile so this-- this is nice. Thank you.” 

“She’s a good kid.” Wade grunted, then tensed when Josh made a motion towards his face and asked, “Is _that_ a dragon thing? Is Ellie going to end up with scales and scars and have to wear that collar too?” 

“No.” Wade touched the collar, grimacing at the steady throb of pain it had been producing since they’d met Ellie. He hadn’t been able to keep his magic from reacting to the young dragon, and the strain of it was starting to wear on him. “No, this form and the collar is a punishment for my misdeeds. Ellie will be beautiful and free, not--” his throat jerked when he saw the healer winding through the camp and heading his way with a sweet smile. “Not trapped and cursed like I am.” 

“Oh.” He looked immediately relieved, then immediately guilty. “Sorry, it’s not that you’re ugly like this or anything-- shit I mean, you look fine but she-- I didn’t want--” 

“Don’t.” Wade shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I don’t even notice anymore.” 

A lie, because of course the dragon noticed the collar and the scars but he noticed them _less_ when a gorgeous, tipsy little witch flopped right into his arms, right into his lap and snuggled in with a sound that could only be called a purr. 

“I’m tired and had way too much to drink.” Peter sighed and curled in even closer, tucking his head into Wade’s chest and reaching up to absentmindedly play with the collar. “Can I sleep here?” 

“ _Please_.” 

… in the morning, Wade’s back was stiff from sitting upright holding his witch, but he didn’t complain once, not when he felt more settled than he had in centuries just holding Peter close, not when the witch hadn’t once released the tight hold around Wade’s waist, not when Peter woke up sleepy and sweet and smiled _happy_ up into his eyes. 

“Good morning.” The familiar said roughly, nails turned to claws pressing at Peter’s side. “Sleep okay?” 

“I’m sure I slept better than you did.” Without shifting or looking away, Peter called his healing and flushed it _golden_ into Wade's body, erasing the aches and pains from an uncomfortable night and spreading warmth clear through the dragon’s veins. “How’s that?” 

“--- **oh** \--” 

Whatever Wade cursed was from a language no one spoke anymore, guttural and _shocked_ at the blanket of healing, the immediate comfort so close to physical pleasure his entire body stiffened, reacting to the weight of the healer in his arms and the scent of honeysuckle in his nose. “Witch, I-- I--” 

“ _Oh_.” Peter made another one of those purring noises when he felt Wade respond beneath him, the gold flecks in his eyes brightening, flickering in interest. “ _Dragon_.” 

“Gods.” Wade ducked his head and hissed out a breath between his fangs. “Pull it-- pull it back. Mercy. _Mercy_.” 

“I’m sorry.” Peter eased his powers immediately, lightened the intensity of his healing until Wade could _breathe_ again and blink his eyes from white back to hazel. “Sorry, I didn’t think that would be like that. I’m sorry, I won’t--” 

“No.” The dragon cut him off, dragged him in tighter and hid his face in Peter’s hair as he fought for composure. “Don’t go. I uh-- you--” 

“Wade?” Coaxing touches at his chin, down his throat to the collar and then back to his cheek. “Too much?” 

“It was--” Wade forced himself to breathe, to _settle_ , to say something that would dispel the tension and allow him to recover his composure. “I can see why all the humans try to take you to bed. Does your healing always feel like that?” 

“I can make sure it always feels like that for you.” Peter whispered into his ear and Wade shuddered all over again. “You’re my familiar, you amplify my magic, I’ll direct my healing to feel however you want it to.” 

Another curse, softer but no less emphatic as the dragon clutched his witch close. “Don't let go of me yet.” 

Over the familiar’s shoulder, a cascade of flowers burst from ground well watered by the spring rains, dozens and dozens of daffodils in shades of brilliant yellow and pristine white, turning their blooms to the sun and flooding the clearing with their sweet perfume. 

“Daffodils!” Ellie cried from somewhere over by Joshua. “Look how pretty!” 

Peter only smiled and held Wade just as tight as he could. 

“I’ve got you, my Dragon.” 

*************

**Chapter Notes:**

> _Uhhhh **hey** to the readers that actually commissioned this fic: super aware that we never once suggested Ellie be part of the story but it totally works right? And if it doesn’t work, well it’s too late to change it now. Sorry not sorry? I really loved the idea of bringing Ellie in to the verse as a dragon shifter. Mostly because she’s Wade’s canon daughter and this way she is family (same familiar shift) too, but also because it’s another way for Wade to know he’s not alone in the world. He’s not the last dragon. I thought finding another dragon would humanize Wade faster than the potential for romance or even a bond would, since he’s so worried about hurting Peter with the bond but with Ellie, he can do something good by helping her and it would offer redemption? Idk I just have strong feelings for suddenly mentoring!Wade lol _
> 
> _Also, Joshua is Ellie’s foster father in comics but I thought “Uncle” suited better here._
> 
> _The Oracle at Delphi was destroyed in the late 4th century which is why Peter references the Oracle covens disappearing. I figured “Seeing the future” would be one of the few magicky things that couldn’t be explained in the modern world and would definitely cause suspicion so that was the one I chose to have fade away._
> 
> _Someone commented and asked why I use Honeysuckle for Peter’s scent in pretty much everything since it seems like a very feminine scent, especially outside of Omegaverse. Yes, honeysuckle is traditionally feminine perfume and I do female-code Peter but my main reason for picking that particular and it’s because honeysuckle is used to help treat skin irritation and in poultices to heal wounds, and has been used to aid in experimental cancer treatments since it increases white blood cell activity, which helps fight tumors. Also, in large doses, Honeysuckle is poisonous and I love the idea that Peter is both wholly good but also poisonous (can defend himself) as necessary because I think that captures who Peter Parker is in general._
> 
> _I also use lavender a lot with him because we all know canon Peter Parker suffers from a severe lack of sleep so I love the idea of rest being part of his very being and something he can offer his (usually angsty AF) partner._
> 
> _PS, I pretty much always have in depth reasons for things like particular scents or personality quirks with my characters and I am always happy to ramble about it!_


End file.
